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THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


ION, 


o'clock 

If  kept 
extra. 
>o  made 

at  least 
the  1st 


TRAGEDY    OF    SUCCESS. 


Still  hold  them  in  thy  tender  fostering  while 

The  cool  air  of  a  wider  world  they  brave, 

These  household  growths  that  rose  beneath  thy  smile 

To  be  the  earliest  offering  at  thy  grave. 

Nor  fail  me  where,  upon  the  steepening  slope, 
Viewing  my  future  lonely  road  I  stand, 
With  earnest  purpose,  though  with  humble  hope: 
Be  my  strength  still,  true  heart  and  faithful  hand! 


TRAGEDY    OF    SUCCESS, 


"Aux  plus  d4sh£rit4s  le  plus  d'amour." 


BOSTON: 

TICKNOB   AND    FIELDS 

1862. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1862,  by 

TICKNOB  AND  FIELDS, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  District  of  Massachusetts, 


RIYEBSIDE,  CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED  AND  PRINTED  BY  H.   0.  HOUGHTON. 


PS 


TRAGEDY    OF    SUCCESS. 


SENTENCE. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 

HERBERT. 

EMMA. 

AGATHA,  formerly  called  PERDITA. 

ALICE. 

HERMANN. 

LESLIE. 

WOODFORD. 


SLAVES. 

HELEN. 

HECATB. 

DORCAS,  also  known  as  PAMELA. 

THERESA. 

EZEKIEL. 

MELAS. 

FLORA. 

BOAZ. 

CHLOE. 

MILO. 

ROXANA. 

PYRRHUS. 

DAFFY. 


TRAGEDY    OP    SUCCESS. 


SENTENCE. 

SCENE  I. 

Belrespiro.  —  Lawn  behind  the  house.  Groups  of  slaves  conversing 
with  earnest  face  and  gesture.  In  the  foreground  are  MELAS, 
FLORA,  BOAZ,  ROXANA,  PYERHUS,  DAFFY,  and  others. 

MILO  enters. 
He  's  come !  he  's  come !  and  how  the  gravel  flew ! 

BOAZ. 

Of  course  he  's  come.     We  knew  it  before  you. 

J 

PYEKHUS. 

And  I  the  first !     'T  was  I  that  brought  you  word. 
Well,  tell  on,  Milo,  let 's  know  what  you  Ve  heard. 

MILO. 

Not  if  you  all  break  in  upon  me  so. 

PYBKHUS. 

Tell  away!    Where  did  Mr.  Herbert  go? 


8  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

MILO. 

Straight  to  the  dining-room. 

BOAZ. 

And  Chloe  there ! 

PTKKHUS. 

Well,  what  it  must  have  been  to  hear  him  swear ! 

MILO. 

No,  still  and  stern. 

BOAZ. 

He  only  thought  the  more. 
But  what  did  Chloe? 

MILO. 

Slipped  behind  the  door, — 
And  whisked  off  spryly  when  he  turned  away. 

BOAZ,  aside. 

Why  could  n't  she  have  had  the  wit  to  stay  ? 

[To  Milo. 
And  you  saw 

MILO. 

Nothing. 


Nothing  heard? 

MILO. 

As  well. 


SENTENCE. 

BOAZ. 

And  nothing  's  all  you  are  come  here  to  tell  ? 


Well,  it  is  something  what  he  did  not  do. 

And  what  he  did  not  find  is  something,  too. 

When  I  took  Folly's  rein,  he  had  n't  thought 

To  say  we  never  groomed  her  as  we  ought ; 

Nor  ever  bade  us,  with  his  natural  frown, 

Cover  her  well,  and  walk  her  up  and  down. — 

There  stands  the  creature,  dripping,  quivering,  heaving  1 

Pyrrhus,  it  is  a  sight  beyond  believing !  — 

He  entered,  calling  upon  no  one's  name ; 

No  one  ran  down  to  meet  him,  when  he  came. 

PYKEH0S. 

Where  is  Miss  Helen  all  the  time  ? 

ROXANA. 

Alone 
In  the  oak  room. 

BOAZ. 

So  her  fine  friend  is  flown! 

PYRRHTJS. 

Friend?  has  she  one? 

FLORA. 

A  hundred  at  her  call ! 


10  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

MIIX). 

Friends  of  her  like  and  ours !  —  no  friends  at  all ! 

FLORA. 

That 's  to  be  proved. 

BOAZ. 

I  think  it  is ! 

FLORA. 

We  01  see  ! 

KILO,  looking  about  him, 
But  what  I  ask  is,  whose  will  all  this  be? 

ROXAXA. 

Of  course  Miss  Emma's. 

BOAZ. 

May  be,  —  may  be  not. 

PYRRHUS. 

Some  say  that  all  is  going  to  Miss what  f 

BOXANA. 

Miss  Agatha. 

PYRRHUS. 

Well,  there  's  a  name ! 

BOXANA. 

And,  oh, 
How  strangely,  Boaz,  Boaz,  things  do  go! 


SENTENCE.  11 

That  Perdita!  who  ever  thought  that  she 
Could  come  to  be  as  much  made  of  as  we  ? 
And  now  just  look  at  her!     How  fast  and  far 
She  's  mounted  up  above  where  we  all  are ! 

MILO,  mimicking  Dorcas. 

Perdy !  Perdy  I  I  hear  old  Dorcas  call ! 

KOXANA. 

And  how  she  used  to  shake  her,  too,  and  all! 

MILO. 

It  won't  do  now  for  us  to  say  the  rest. 

BOAZ. 

No,  —  rule  the  unruly  evil. 

CHLOE,  entering. 

That  is  best. 

BOAZ. 

I  saw  she  had  a  something 


EOXANA. 

So  did  I. 

PTREHUS. 

I  thought  she  rather  carried  her  head  high. 

BOAZ. 

Why,  not  exactly.     But  she  had  a  way 

Chloe  '11  remember  that  she  heard  me  say 


12  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

CHLOE. 

Well,  now  I  think,  I  seem  to  recollect 


I  told  you  once  the  skilful  could  detect 
Signs  of  distinction  even  in  the  low. 

CHLOE. 

And  you  meant  Perdita?    Yes,  that  was  so. 


It  is  a  comfort,  friends,  to  call  to  mind 
That,  even  among  the  greatest  of  mankind, 
The  world  has  seen  such  instances  before : 
My  namesake  Boaz  lay  on  a  barn-floor; 
Moses  was  put  in  bulrushes  to  sleep ; 
The  royal  David  once  looked  after  sheep ; 
One  Scripture  king  was  brought  to  such  a  pass 
That  seven  years  long  he  had  to  live  on  grass ! 

ROXANA. 

Miss  Agatha  was  never  in  that  case! 

PTKRHUS. 

Nor  no  one  else  upon  our  master's  place ! 

ROXANA. 

It  often  chanced  me  speak  her  a  kind  word, — 
If  only  she  remember  it. 


SENTENCE.  13 

MILO. 

I  've  heard 
That  memory  's  sharper  set  on  bane  than  boon. 

BOAZ. 

The  slap  you  hit  her  that  hot  afternoon, 
Coming  from  meeting 

MILO. 

Somewhat  out  of  tune. 
Yes,  that  she  won't  forget  so  very  soon! 

EOXANA,  to  Soaz. 

You  need  n't  cast  it  up  to  me !     What  one 
Has  ever  snubbed  that  girl  as  you  have  done? 

BOAZ. 

I  have  admonished  only. 

MILO. 

Let  that  run! 

You  can't  unslap  her  nor  unsnub  her  now : 
All  you  can  do  is  curtsy  down  and  bow. 

[  Curtsying  and  bouring,  as  he  speaks,  in  mimicry  of  Roxana  and 
Boon. 

MELAS. 

There  's  one  was  never  bad  to  her :     Flora,  you. 

FLORA. 

I  never  did  much  for  her. 


14  TBAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

ROXANA. 

That  is  true ! 
You  can't  make  claim ! 

FLORA. 

I  've  enough  else  to  do. 

CHLOE. 

You  don't  expect,  then,  that  you  '11  keep  your  place  ? 

ROXAXA.  laughing. 

Do  only  look  at  her  astonished  face! 

FLORA. 

Not  keep  it! 

ROXANA. 

Well,  I  'm  glad  you  've  found  your  voice. 
Would  n't  one  think  she  had  it  in  her  choice  ? 
The  place,  we  mean,  of  our  young  lady's  maid, — 
Miss  Agatha's,  in  fact.     I  am  afraid, 
My  pretty  little  Flora,  you  will  find 
[Nodding  at  Chloe. 

The  mistress  has  another  in  her  mind. 


If  you  want  favor,  Flora,  and  not  blame, 

Don't  be  too  much  with  folks  that  I  could  name. 

DAFFY. 

You  mean  Miss  Helen! 


SENTENCE.  15 

BOAZ. 

Silence,  boy !     You  dare 
Give  my  words  meaning  that  they  will  not  bear? 

PYBRHtrs,  glancing  at  the  upper  windows  of  the  house,  and  nodding 
towards  it. 

Why,  what  do  you  suppose,  now,  will  be  done 
With 

BOAZ. 

That  unhappy  lady  and  her  son? 
[Pyrrhus  nods. 

Least  said  is  soonest  mended.     And  the  less 
You  say  of  her,  the  less  to  mend,  I  guess ! 

DAFFY. 

What !  do  you  think  they  '11  punish  her  so  bad  ? 

BOAZ. 

A  question  not  for  you  to  ask,  my  lad ! 

ROXANA. 

You  don't  think,  surely,  that  they  '11  let  her  stay  ? 

BOAZ. 

Whatever  I  may  think,  I  cannot  say. 

PYRRHUS. 

You  don't  suppose  that  she  '11  be  sent  away  ? 


16  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

BOAZ. 

I  don't  suppose.     But  what  you  '11  see,  you  '11  see. 
And  when  you  see  it  —  you  may  think  of  me. 


And  now  the  boy  ?     Where  do  you  think  he  '11  go  ? 
They  '11  send  him  straight  off,  won't  they  ? 

BOAZ. 

Pyrrhus,  no ! 

He  '11  stay  about  here  for  a  season  yet ; 
Then  pass  from  hand  to  hand  in  their  own  set, 
Till  he  gets  far  enough  to  be  forgot 
And  take  his  portion  with  the  common  lot. 

PYBRHTJS. 

That  *s  the  way,  is  it  ? 

MILO. 

Boaz  knows  mankind. 

BOAZ. 

You  may  say  that !     He  's  neither  deaf  nor  blind. 

MILO. 

Where  is  that  Hecate?    No  one  seems  to  ask. 

BOAZ. 

She  hides  her  face  since  she  has  dropped  her  mask. 


SENTENCE.  17 

KOXANA. 

So  great  a  person  once,  and  now  forgot ! 


But  as  brush  crackling  underneath  a  pot 
Is  the  short  pleasure  of  the  wicked's  day ! 
Waste  no  more  thought  on  Hecate  !     Let  her  stay 
Where  she  has  hid  herself. 


Yet  I  must  say 

The  thought  of  her  amuses  me.     Such  art ! 
Let  none  of  you  rest  boast  yourselves  !     How  smart 
That  creature  was  whom  we  all  called  moonstruck ! 
And  then  to  think  upon  her  daughter's  luck ! 
To  take  and  hold  for  twenty  years  the  seat 
Of  the  young  mistress  !     Oh,  it  was  complete ! 
Then  Mr.  Herbert  senior!  to  cheat  him! 
Carry  his  son  off!     Oh,  that  was  n't  slim ! 
Believe,  I  'm  not  the  only  one  will  laugh 
To  hear  that  old  bird  has  been  caught  with  chaff! 


Oh,  if  the  mistress  heard ! 


You  won't  repeat! 

You  know,  if  you  began  that  game,  you  'd  meet 
Your  more  than  master  at  it !     Be  discreet ! 

B 


18  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

BOAZ. 

Roxy  is  right.     What !  young  man,  do  you  jest, 
When  your  own  mistress  is  so  sore  distressed? 
Think  of  her  daughter !  think  how  she  was  dressed ! 
Sackcloth  and  ashes  we  might  call  her  best, 
Compared  with  what  that  angel  should  have  worn ! 
You  must  remember  her  all  soiled  and  torn? 
And  then  the  bufferings  that  she  has  borne ! 
You  can  laugh,  Milo,  at  what  makes  us  mourn? 

[Clasping  his  hands. 

And  when  we  think  how  that  sweet  saint  was  barred 
From  her  own  mother's  love !     Oh,  that  was  hard ! 
Shut  out,  too,  twenty  years  from  all  she  had ! 
Nothing  was  ever  heard  of  half  so  bad ! 

FLORA, 

Worse  might  have  been. 

CHLOE. 

Worse  ? 


What  worse,  pray? 

FLORA. 

Why,  think  if  it  had  been  the  other  way,  — 
If  Perdy  'd  been  the  wrong  one  set  up  there, 
And  poor  Miss  Helen  cheated  of  her  share. 


Well,  to  be  sure  ! 


SENTENCE.  19 

ROXANA,  indignantly. 
What ! 

MELAS,  aside  to  Flora. 

Flora,  do  take  care! 

CHLOE. 

They  say  you  wait  upon  Miss  Helen  still. 

FLORA. 

Whom  should  I  wait  on  ? 

CHLOE. 

Well,  don't  take  it  ill. 
I  did  n't  blame  you  for  't,  I  only  said. 

KOXANA. 

And  some  think  she  might  do  without  a  maid. 

FLORA. 

If  you  're  of  them,  don't  think  your  thoughts  to  me ! 
She  has  a  maid  while  I  live. 

BOAZ. 

Thought  is  free. 

CHLOE. 

So  it  is,  Boaz.     We  can't  hold  our  own, 
And  might  as  well  let  other  folks'  alone. 

FLORA. 

If  you  could  see  her !  Though  your  hearts  were  stone, 


20  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

They  'd  soften  into  human  flesh  again, 
Brought  into  presence  with  that  silent  pain! 

BOAZ. 

We  did  n't  mean  to  call  up  all  this  stir.  — 
You  're  out,  no  doubt,  upon  some  job  for  her  ? 

BOXAKA. 

She  sends  on  errands,  then  ?     Keeps  up  her  state  ? 


The  force  of  habit,  Roxy. 

CHLOE. 

Yes,  that 's  great 

BOAZ,  to  Flora. 

You  're  a  good  girl.     If  I  could  save  you  now 
Some  steps  or  trouble !     Do  but  tell  me  how ! 


I  came  out  only  just  to  take  the  air. 

But  if  you  really  should  have  time  to  spare, 

And  would  do  something  for  me 

MBLA8. 

Here  am  I! 

FLORA. 

I  see  you,  Melas.     Your  turn  by-and-by. 
Boaz  was  first  to  offer. 


SENTENCE.  21 

MELAS,  to  himself. 

That 's  the  way ! 
Just  what  my  heart  is  full  of  others  say ! 

FLORA,  to  Boaz. 

Oh,  Boaz,  how  considerate  you  are ! 
You  '11  have  to  go  you  don't  know  yet  how  far. 
But  you  will  tell  me,  if  I  ask  too  much. 
I  like  a  candid  man. 

BOAZ. 

I  'm  known  as  such. 
How  can  I  help  her? 

FLORA. 

Her?     Oh,  now  I  see 
It  is  a  her  you  want  to  help,  not  me  ! 


'T  is  for  yourself?     Oh,  test  my  zeal  and  try! 
For  others  I  could  walk, — for  you  I  fly! 

MELAS,  aside. 

How  wrong  in  Flora,  when  she  knows  so  well !  • 
Poor  Chloe's  face !  I  noticed  how  it  fell !  — 
Oh,  women,  women !  What !  and  Flora,  too, 
Is  pleased  with  flattery,  no  matter  who 
May  bring  it  to  her !  takes  it  as  her  due  !  — 
I  could  forgive  her  for  not  liking  me ; 
But  put  before  me  such  a  one  as  he ! 


22  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

[Boaz,  while  talking  with,  Flora,  gradually  withdraws  from  the 
group,  Flora  following,  until  they  stand  quite  apart  from  the 
rest.  Chloe  watches  them  anxiously ;  Melas  looks  another  way. 

BOAZ. 
Don't  hesitate  to  speak  it,  Flora. 


Well, 

I  really  am  almost  ashamed  to  tell. 
To  such  a  man  as  you  a  thing  so  small 
Might  seem  to  be  beneath  him. 


Not  at  all. 

The  day  of  small  things  must  not  be  despised. 
Let  my  humility  be  exercised! 


Oh,  then,  if  you  get  something  by  it  too 
You  know  Ezekiel  ? 


I  suppose  I  do. 
Most  people  know  him. 

[Aside. 

Has  he  humbugged  you? 
[Aloud. 
If  I  don't  see  him  as  the  many  see 

FLORA. 

It 's  not  Ezekiel  that  I  want,  —  not  he ! 


SENTENCE.  23 

But  in  his  garden,  Boaz,  oh,  there  grow 

Such  strawberries  !     If  you  would  like  to  go 


BOAZ. 

Berries  !  how  would  you  have  me  bring  them  back  ? 
I  misbecome  a  basket  or  a  pack. 

FLOBA. 

Don't  bring  them  back  at  all.     You  '11  only  say 
"  The  season  's  forward"  and  then  come  away. 

BOAZ. 

What  good  will  that  do? 


Why,  he  promised  me 
That  I  should  have  those  strawberries. 

BOAZ. 

Promised !  He  I 

FLORA. 

And  he  's  quick-witted ;  there  's  no  need  to  dint 
Things  into  his  brain:  he  can  take  a  hint. 

BOAZ. 

But  creature  comforts  are  not  in  his  line. 


No,  not  in  his,  but  very  much  in  mine. 

And  what  are  strawberries  raised  for  ?    Can  you  tell  ? 


24  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

BOAZ. 

What  are  they  raised  for  ?  Why,  they  're  raised  to  sell. 

And,  to  be  just  to  him,  I  never  knew 

Him  sending  gifts  to  such  young  things  as  you. 


Well,  Boaz,  now  I  '11  tell  you  the  true  truth. 
That  poor  old  Hitabel !  without  a  tooth, 
And  flat  in  bed  besides !     Do  only  think ! 
For  three  long  years  mainly  to  live  on  drink ! 
You  may  imagine  how  some  tender  food, 
To  mump  away  upon,  must  do  her  good] 
The  berries  were  to  be  for  her,  poor  thing! 
He  would  n't  do  a  favor  to  a  king, 
But  to  a  poor  old  woman 

BOAZ,  with  candor. 

Well,  he  might. 

FLORA. 

I  should  n't  want  to  ask  for  them  outright,  — 
'T  would  not  be  delicate,  —  but  you  might  glance 
Upon  the  strawberry-patch,  as  if  by  chance, 
And,  falling  into  an  admiring  gaze,  — 
"  These  must  be  those  I  have  heard  Flora  praise" 
You  are  so  natural !     You  can  turn  it  so ! 


Jael  herself  could  not  have  said  you  no ! 
Yes,  I,  if  any,  am  the  one  to  go. 
You  know,  perhaps,  it  is  not  every  face 
Finds  welcome  upon  Colonel  Winter's  place  ? 


SENTENCE.  25 

FLORA. 

Oh,  yes,  indeed !     I  know  the  Colonel  wrote 
To  our  good  master  gone  a  saucy  note, 
Saying  our  folks  had  too  much  leave  to  roam, 
And  begging  him  to  make  them  stay  at  home. 
Our  master  flamed  up,  it  was  good  to  see  !  — 
Oh,  where  to  find  another  such  as  he !  — 
But,  Boaz,  it  was  just  because  you  're  known 
For  a  judicious  man,  that  you  alone 
I  chose  to  ask  to  go.     Why,  no  one  dreads 
Your  putting  uppish  thoughts  in  people's  heads. 

BOAZ. 

It  tickles  me  now  that  the  Colonel  should 
Keep  that  Ezekiel  there,  from  whom  no  good 
Is  to  be  looked  for,  mark  me,  yet  should  fear 
The  harmless  simpletons  that  go  from  here! 


Ah,  but  we  're  apt  to  boast  our  feed  and  fare : 
So  different  from  what  they  get  down  there ! 


What  then  ?     They  could  n't  get  it,  if  they  tried. 
He  has  his  will.     What  does  he  want  beside  ? 

FLORA. 

'T  is  pleasanter  to  have  folks  satisfied. 

BOAZ. 

His  never  would  be,  Flora!     I  declare, 


26  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

That,  if  his  place  were  hanging  in  the  air, 
And  not  a  neighbor  soul  to  visit  there, 
And  prick  fault-finding  into  them,  yet  they 
Would  break  out  with  it  in  the  natural  way! 


Ezekiel  never  grumbles. 


He  's  too  deep : 

A  hypocrite  that  works  while  others  sleep ! 
That  fellow  is  a  great  deal  more  than  sly: 
He  's  one  that  looks  his  master  in  the  eye ! 
And  yet  the  Colonel,  a  hard  man  to  please, 
And  one  not  fond  of  leaving  folks  their  ease, 
Gives  that  Ezekiel  his  will  and  way, 
Letting  him  go  and  come  by  night  or  day ! 


He  trusts  Ezekiel,  and  they  say  he  must, 
Because  he  has  no  other  he  can  trust 

BOAZ. 

Well,  what  old  Peter  said  once  is  too  just ! 

FLORA. 

What  was  it,  Boaz  ? 

BOAZ. 

Why,  the  old  man  said, 
In  his  experience,  people  are  afraid 


SENTENCE.  27 

Of  what  won't  hurt  'em,  and  hold  out  their  arms 

To  give  an  open  welcome  to  their  harms. 

My  mind  deceives  me,  if  Ezekiel  's  not 

Making  his  heart  like  to  an  oven  hot. 

What  if  the  Colonel,  caught  some  morning,  learned 

That  he,  like  Ephraim,  was  a  cake  not  turned  ? 

FLORA. 

You  '11  never  make  me  think  Ezekiel  's  bad. 
You  '11  not  tell  him  you  think  so  ? 

BOAZ. 

Am  I  mad? 
I  '11  flatter  up  his  berries. 

FLORA. 

I  'm  so  glad ! 

"The  season  's  forward  "  's  all  you  need  to  add ; 
And  we  shall  have  the  best  that  can  be  had. 

BOAZ. 

You  '11  get  them  how  ? 

FLORA. 

He  '11  come  himself,  be  sure. 
Ezekiel  is  no  sayer,  but  a  doer. 

BOAZ,  aside. 

Is  that  a  hit? 

[Aloud. 

I  hope  I  am  the  same. 


28  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

FLORA. 

T  hope  so,  too. 

CHLOE,  coming  up. 
With  all  you  have  that  name. 

MELAS,  seeing  Chloejoin  them,  comes  up  too. 
What!  are  you  going,  Flora?     Have  you  found- 


FLORA. 

Nothing  for  you  quite  yet.     But  —  you  be  round  ! 

[Flora  goes.    Melas  returns  to  the  other  group,  and  begins  talking 
to  Pyrrhus.    Milo,  Roxana,  and  Daffy  soon  after  go  out. 

BOAZ,  turning  to  Chloe  with  benignity,  but  a  little,  embarrassed. 

Ah,  Chloe! 

CHLOE,  taking  up  the  corner  of  her  apron, 
Boaz! 

BOAZ. 

Well,  what  is  it,  dear  ? 
Why,  bless  my  soul !  —  it  can't  be  !  —  what !  a  tear  ? 

CHLOE,  gobbing. 

I  did  n't  mean  to  interrupt  —  disturb 


BOAZ. 

You  came  in  good  time,  my  dear  child,  to  curb 
That  poor  girl's  —  madness,  I  might  almost  say. 


SENTENCE.  29 


CHLOE, 

But  Flora  —  looks  —  so  well  —  for  her  —  to-day  ! 


Sosoish  !     I  was  thinking  all  the  while, 

Dear  Chloe,  she  could  never  have  your  smile. 

CHLOE,  smiling. 

Boaz,  oh,  if  I  only  could  believe 


BOAZ. 

What  motive,  Chloe,  have  I  to  deceive? 
Assuredly,  you  must  have  marked  how  she 
Insisted  on  a  private  talk  with  me  ? 

CHLOE. 

You  cannot  wonder  that  I  take  it  ill 
You  bear  her  sauciness  and  do  her  will  ? 

BOAZ. 

And  think  you  that  it  is  for  her,  my  girl, 
I  do  her  nonsense  errand  to  that  churl? 


What  for,  then  ? 

BOAZ. 

Chloe,  let  not  woman  pry 
Into  man's  matters.     They  are  quite  too  high 
For  your  discernment.     And  you  ought  to  know 
From  Scripture  history  what  that  comes  to. 


30  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

In  curiosity  was  always  woe. 
From  Eve  to  Matty  Meddlesome  't  was  so. 
Women  get  scalded  fingers,  when  they  try 
To  have  one  of  them  in  man's  apple-pie. 

CHLOE. 

And  Flora  ?     Has  n't  she  put  one  in  yours  ? 


Well,  Flora  has  no  secret  that  insures 

Her  from  the  common  lot.     There  is  no  charm 

That  can  keep  female  impudence  from  harm. 

CHLOE. 

You  let  her  into  your  high  matters,  though? 

BOAZ,  aside. 
It 's  cruel  in  me  to  distress  her  so. 

[Aloud. 

No,  my  poor  foolish  little  Chloe,  no ! 
She  knows  no  more  than  you  what  I  design. 
Doing  her  errands,  I  am  following  mine. 
To  men  who  plan  great  things  is  often  sent, 
To  help  themselves  with,  some  mean  instrument. 
Flora,  perhaps,  may  furnish  me  some  aid, — 
But  not  so  much  as  you,  my  pretty  maid ! 
I  know  who  's  kind  and  diligent  and  true  : 
The  one  who  has  my  confidence  is — jou! 


You  really  mean  it? 


SENTENCE.  31 

BOAZ. 

Well,  are  you  content? 


I  have  your  confidence? 

BOAZ. 

To  some  extent. 

I  could  not  promise,  and  you  would  not  ask 
That  I  should  set  before  myself  the  task 
Of  teaching  you  the  workings  of  my  mind. 
Such  studies  are  not  fit  for  womankind. 
Knowledge  of  what  we  want,  not  what  we  do, 
Nor  what  we  think  of,  is  the  thing  for  you. 
"  What  can  we  do  to  help?"  helps  meet  inquire, 
And,  having  done  it,  silently  retire. 
"  What  can  I  do  to  help  ?  "  my  girl  would  say. 
Ask  me,  then,  Chloe,  and  I  '11  point  the  way. 

CHLOE. 

What  can  I  do  to  help,? 

BOAZ. 

That 's  sweetly  said. 
Much,  very  much.  —  Flora  's  Miss  Helen's  maid  ? 

CHLOE. 

She  calls  herself  so,  and  she  has  the  face 
To  say  she  always  means  to  keep  her  place. 

BOAZ. 

And  she  may  make  her  word  good  yet. 


32  TRAGEDY  OF   SUCCESS. 

CHLOB. 

Oh,  how? 

BOAZ. 

It  does  n't  look  so,  certainly,  just  now. 
But  listen,  Chloe.     Know  it  has  been  found, 
By  the  old  fathers,  that  the  world  goes  round. 
What 's  down  to-day  may  be  upside  next  turn. 
We  must  be  careful,  therefore,  what  we  spurn. 
Wait  till  you  're  sure  which  way  the  wind  will  set, 
And  don't  be  holding  your  head  too  high  yet. 

CHLOE. 

You  are  a  perfect  Christian !     To  the  weak 
And  fallen  you  can  be  so  kind  and  meek ! 

BOAZ. 

As  preacher  't  is  my  duty,  and  as  man. 

CHLOE. 

Now  tell  me  mine.     I  '11  do  what  woman  can. 


And  this  she  can  :  can  lend  her  pretty  ear 
To  gather  up  what  Boaz  wants  to  hear. 
This  can  she:  she  can  let  her  pretty  eyes 
Wander  for  Boaz,  be  his  little  spies. 
Chloe,  I  '11  trust  you  farther  than  I  meant. 
Things  in  this  household  give  me  discontent. 
Wherever  I  may  look,  I  plainly  trace 
A  certain  something  upon  every  face. 


SENTENCE.  33 

CHLOE. 

Boaz !  you  don't !  what  can  that  something  be  ? 


Enough  't  is  something  that  is  kept  from  me. 
Chloe,  my  Chloe,  we  must  find  it  out. 
A  most  uncomfortable  thing  is  doubt ! 


Oh,  Boaz,  nobody  could  mean  you  ill  1 
Or  is  it  me,  you  think? 


Poor  child,  be  still' 

None  mean  you  evil.     Humbleness  protects, 
And  I  am  one  whom  no  ill-will  affects. 
It  is  not  that ;  but  duty  and  desire, 
Both  working  in  me,  prick  me  to  inquire. 
I  am  not  watchful  for  my  good  alone, 
But  make  the  mistress'  interests  my  own  j 
So,  seeing  certain  signs  of  secrecy, 
My  cogitations  much  have  troubled  me  ; 
For  it  has  been  a  maxim  with  me  long, 
That,  where  there  's  mystery,  there  's  always  wrong. 
Now,  Chloe,  do  not  miss  the  smallest  thing : 
A  nod,  a  hem,  a  beck,  a  whispering,  — 
All  may  have  meaning  that  you  cannot  see : 
Treasure  all  up  and  bring  them  safe  to  me. 
Keep  a  sharp  eye  on  Flora :  she  's  the  heart 
Of  every  mischief;  but  we  '11  balk  her  art ! 
c 


34  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

Especially  if  she  put  on  an  air, 

In  doing  things,  as  if  she  did  n't  care 

Who  saw  or  heard,  oh,  Chloe,  then  beware ! 

For  that 's  the  semblance  that  the  wicked  bear. 

If  you  should  come  within  Miss  Helen's  door, 

You  must  be  spry  and  watchful  all  the  more. 

On  that  impostor  my  suspicions  fall : 

I  have  an  inkling  she  's  the  root  of  all. 

Be  careful  that  you  don't  offend  her,  though: 

That 's  my  first  word  and  last :  we  never  know 

What  may  be  going  to  happen  here  below. 

Set  all  in  memory  down  as  in  a  book ; 

And  keep  your  honest  simpleness  of  look. 

Oh,  Chloe,  in  this  world  so  false  and  base, 

How  precious  to  me  is  that  artless  face  ! 

What  so  distrustful  Thomas  could  descry 

A  double  meaning  in  that  single  eye? 

If  you  could  still  seem  shallow,  yet  be  deep, — 

Still  prattle  idly,  yet  my  counsel  keep,  — 

Still  wear  your  own  do-nothing  sort  of  way, 

Yet  have  your  senses  all  the  time  in  play,  — 

Be  humble  still,  yet,  when  I  bid  you,  bold, — 

Oh,  Chloe,  you  would  be  a  mine  of  gold  ! 

And  now,  when  I  come  home,  what  shall  I  bring 

Back  to  my  little  charmer  ?  what  good  thing  ? 

CHLOE. 
Only  yourself! 

BOAZ. 

An  answer  kind  and  just. 


SENTENCE.  35 

Myself  I  '11  bring  you,  full  of  love  and  trust. 
Your  generous  little  heart  I  will  not  grieve. 
I  know  to  give  is  better  than  receive. 
To  tend  and  serve  is  woman's  richest  treat. 

[  Tenderly. 

And  could  you  manage  something  nice  to  eat  ? 
There  's  little  chance  of  getting  dinner  there : 
Ezekiel's  provender  is  rather  spare. 

[  Chloe  nods  joyfully  and  goes. 

BOAZ,  turning  to  go,  sees  Melas,  whom  Pyrrhus  has  just  left. 

Ah,  Melas,  my  good  boy,  you  're  still  on  hand  ! 
If  you  should  have  a  moment  at  command, 
And  meet  that  little  Flora,  would  you  say 
That  she  shall  see  me  with  the  close  of  day  ? 

MELAS  looks  fiercely  after  Boaz  —  who  goes  away  slowly  —  and  then  falls 
into  a  dejected  attitude.  Flora,  enters  and  passes  near  him.  He  does 
not  lift  his  eyes,  nor  appear  to  notice  her,  but,  after  she  has  gone  out, 
gazes  earnestly  in  the  direction  where  she  disappeared.  After  remain 
ing  a  few  moments  absorbed,  he  sings. 

They  tell  us  Truth  is  dearer 

Than  Fancy,  and  more  fair; 
But  now  I  've  seen  her  nearer, 

I  know  her  harsh  and  bare. 

Far  lovelier  is  seeming! 

How  mournfully  gave  way 
My  happy  moonlit  dreaming 

To  this  forsaken  day ! 


36  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

Love  stood,  all  gay  and  shining, 

And  held  forth,  full  of  glee, 
Sweet  wreaths  that  he  was  twining : 

I  thought  they  were  for  me! 

Love  !  mock  not  my  believing  ! 

It  was  not  worth  thy  art 
To  compass  the  deceiving 

Of  such  a  simple  heart ! 

FLORA  enters,  passes  Melas  again,  hesitates  a  moment,  and  then  re 
turns. 

You  can  sing,  Melas ! 

MELAS. 

I  have  that  left  yet. 

FLORA. 

Oh,  Melas,  with  your  heart,  you  can  forget! 

MELAS,  as  if  going. 

He  who  's  forgotten,  Flora,  surely  may. 


Forgotten  ?    You  ?     O  foolish  Melas,  stay  ! 

We  must  not  quarrel  till  a  happier  day. 

I  want  to  answer  back  :  you  know  I  'm  not 

A  tardy  payer  in  that  kind  of  scot. 

You  know  I  've  spirit,  and  you  know  I  Ve  pride, 

And  what  a  tongue  —  when  I  've  the  heart  —  to  chide. 

Now  think  that  I  have  cried  all,  and  all  said, 


SENTENCE.  37 

And  that  your  doubts  of  me  are  fully  paid. 

We  can  so  easily  put  off  our  cares ! 

Oh,  Melas,  there  are  those  that  must  keep  theirs ! 

MELAS. 

You  know  me,  Flora :  you  know  if  I  could 


FLORA. 

Yes,  indeed,  Melas,  I  was  sure  you  would ! 
It  was  n't  /  that  had  a  doubt  of  you. 

MELAS. 

I  thought  that  we  were  not  to  quarrel. 

FLORA. 

True! 

MELAS,  laughing. 

First  take  the  beam  out,  as  the  Scripture  saith. 

FLORA. 

But  I  have  got  to  draw  upon  your  faith. 
It  is  because  of  that  I  called  to  mind 
Your  little  failing,  not  to  be  unkind. 

MELAS. 

So  be  it,  Flora !  only  set  my  task ! 

FLORA. 

You  must  do  blindly  everything  I  ask  ; 
Must  come  and  go,  as  I  say  go  and  come ; 


38  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

Speak  when  I  bid  you,  when  I  bid  be  dumb ; 
You  must  not  even  look  curious  at  me,  nor 
A  single  once  must  say  to  me,  "  What  for  ? " 


Hard,  —  little  Flora  !  but,  if  it  must  be, 
I  could  for  you 

FLORA. 

No,  Melas,  not  for  me; 
But  for  Christ's  sake,  and  for  dear  charity. 
Not  on  my  own  part  could  I  thus  entreat ; 
Not  for  my  own  good  could  I  use  deceit, 
Nor  try  you,  open-hearted  boy,  to  win 
To  artifice  that  almost  seems  a  sin ! 
More  distant  griefs  are  knocking  at  your  heart ; 
Dangers  we  need  not  share  in  claim  our  art. 
My  bosom  aches  beneath  another's  cares ; 
My  temples  bleed  with  thorns  that  are  not  theirs. 
But  could  you  see  the  head  bent  humbly  down 
That  owns  the  pressure  of  the  torture  crown ! 


Her  sorrows  pierce  me  by  your  look  and  word ; 
I  hear  her  voice  in  yours ;  my  heart  is  stirred 
To  its  last  corner.     Flora,  could  you  think, 
That,  if  her  service  called  me,  I  should  shrink 
From  danger  or  from  labor  ?     Tell  me  all ! 

FLORA. 

All  that  I  can  I  've  told. 


SENTENCE.  39 

MELAS. 

But  you  let  fall 
Something  of  danger. 

FLORA. 

Certainly.     What  then? 

MELAS. 

Only  this :  danger  is  the  part  of  men. 

FLORA. 

Of  women,  when  they  're  called  to  it. 


Not  when 

A  man  is  by  who  has  the  right  and  will 
To  stand  between  the  tender  one  and  ill. 
Speak,  then  !     What  is  the  purpose,  and  the  plan  ? 
I  can  do  more  to  aid  than  Flora  can. 


I  know  not  yet  what  the  design  may  be ; 
Nor  do  I  know  what  part  is  set  for  me. 
I  Ve  done  my  little  duty  for  to-day, 
Plotting  those  wide  ears  and  quick  eyes  away, 
And,  through  an  unsuspected  messenger, 
Sending  a  hint  that  is  to  profit  her. 
.But  I  give  blind  obedience,  as  you  must. 

MELAS. 

Flora,  you  know  in  whom  you  put  your  trust? 


40  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

FLORA. 

Yes,  in  a  better  head,  a  stronger  heart 
Than  all  of  us  have,  and  a  deeper  art. 
Projects  that  head  grows  have  a  steadfast  root ; 
Plans  that  heart  fosters  cannot  fail  of  fruit. 


Fruit? — bitter  fruit  it  may  be,  to  our  taste! 
Do  not  rush,  Flora,  with  too  generous  haste 
Upon  your  own  undoing.     You  may  waste 
Yourself  upon  a  useless  work.     I  can 
Even  risk  this  chance,  because  I  am  a  man. 
I,  at  your  bidding,  or  at  hers,  would  face 
Not  deadly  danger  only,  but  disgrace. 
But  how  can  woman  venture  far,  when  blame 
Brings  her  not  only  misery,  but  shame? 

FLORA. 

Melas,  we  shall  succeed !  we  shall  succeed ! 


It  may  be:  still  our  humble  hearts  may  bleed, 

While  higher  ones  with  satisfaction  beat 

At  the  well-working  of  their  clever  feat. 

I  know  not  all,  and  yet  I  can  divine 

What  the  end  is,  and  who  the  plans  combine. 

If  all  go  right,  perhaps  they  '11  show  some  sense 

Of  our  deserts.     Perhaps  they  will  go  hence, 

Contented  with  the  issue  of  the  deed, 

But  thoughtless  of  protection  or  of  meed 


SENTENCE.  41 

For  thoSe  who  wrought  it.     This,  if  we  succeed, — 

If  we  succeed  !     But,  Flora,  if  we  fail ! 

What  would  that  bring  us  to  ?     To  stripes,  to  jail ! 

And  beyond  these,  to  endless  banishment ! 

No  loving  word  will  follow  where  we  're  sent. 

In  vain  we  turn  the  eager  ear !  in  vain 

The  thirsting  sight  to  its  last  limit  strain  ! 

No  breath  from  home,  no  presence  !     The  hard  earth 

Reproves  the  exile  with  his  distant  birth ; 

The  very  lights  of  heaven  overhead 

Reluctant  rays  upon  his  pathway  shed ; 

The  palest  spectres  of  joys  perished  fill 

The  loneliness  in  which  he  walks,  until 

The  weary-hearted  turns  his  sickening  eyes 

To  death  and  darkness  from  the  foreign  skies. 

A  man  might  brace  himself  to  meet  this  fate ; 

But  woman  doomed  to  die  so  desolate  ! 

What  man  that  was  a  man  could  calmly  view 

Such  bitter  destiny  marked  out  for  you  ? 


Not  death  and  darkness,  but  new  birth  and  light ! 
Have  we  not  learned  that  on  the  heavenly  height, 
Which  lies  beyond  this  valley  deep  and  dim, 
We  find  the  life  that  we  have  lost  for  Him  ? 
Better  on  earth  to  droop  and  die  alone 
Than  be  of  those  whom  Jesus  will  disown  ! 
They  only  truly  count  among  the  dead, 
Who,  in  His  own,  Him  have  not  comforted.  — 
Melas,  it  would  not  be  like  you  to  try 


42  TRAGEDY  OF   SUCCESS. 

To  have  a  better  place  in  heaven  than  I ! 

In  heaven  ?   perhaps  they  would  not  let  me  there  ; 

But  send  me  down  to  Satan  and  despair ! 

Could  you  be  happy,  in  your  robes  of  light, 

While  I  was  shivering  with  pain  and  fright? 

They  perish  who  have  ignorantly  erred ; 

How,  then,  with  me,  who  've  threat  and  promise  heard  ? 

"  Sick  and  in  prison"  was  the  Saviour's  word : 

Sick  and  in  prison  is  Miss  Helen's  lot ; 

And  who  is  kin  to  Christ,  if  she  is  not  ? 

And  then  that  darling !  who  could  ever  be 

A  little  one  of  Jesus,  if  not  he  ? 

A  wonder,  Melas!  What  if,  when  we  die, 

And  stand  up  there  together,  you  and  I, 

Waiting  upon  Messiah's  last  decrees, 

We  hear,  —  "  Te  did  it  unto  one  of  these  !  " 

[She  gives  her  hand  to  Melas. 
And  if  not  ?  —  Let  us  work  for  Jesus'  love, 
Although  they  take  no  note  of  it  above. 
We  will  not  lend  the  Lord,  but  freely  give  ; 
And,  as  His  will  is,  let  us  die  or  live  1 

MELAS,  pressing  her  hand  to  his  heart. 

It  is  agreed,  then !     We  will  all  things  share : 
Let  Melas  suffer  everything  you  bear, 
And,  where  he  ventures,  you  have  leave  to  dare. 
Lead  the  way,  Flora !     Tell  me  what  to  do ! 
I  hear  the  Master  speak  to  me  through  you ! 

[They  go  out. 


SENTENCE.  43 


SENTENCE. 

SCENE   II. 

A  room  in  the  house  at  Belrespiro.  The  furniture  is  simple,  but  of 
graceful  design.  On  a  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room  are  books, 
a  work-basket,  a  child's  little  velvet  cap,  and  a  letter. 

HERBERT,  enters  abruptly. 

Not  here  !  Some  moments  yet  for  thought ! — Oh,  Helen, 
Is  my  heart  freer  that  I  do  not  find  you, — 
You,  who  could  lighten  once  the  heaviest  hour? 

[He  walks  hurriedly  up  and  down  the  room,   then  stops  near  the 
table. 

She  does  not  seek  me.     Is  it  pride  or  fear  ?  — 

[Sees  the  letter  and  takes  it  up. 
For  me  !     My  father's  hand  ! 

[Throws  it  down. 

I  will  not  read  it ! 
I  know  it  all  as  well  as  if  I  did : 
Full  to  the  brim  with  pious  consolation  ! 
As  if  I  were  not  crazed  and  desperate 
Enough  already,  on  the  top  of  all 
I  must  be  dinned  with  piety  and  wisdom  !  — 
And  yet  he  has  —  I  must  allow  it  —  insight 
Into  this  world's  affairs.     And  I  'm  bewildered ; 
I  have  no  settled  judgment  of  my  own  ; 
I  cannot  look  before  me  or  behind : 
The  world  seems  shattering  into  wreck  about  me. 
Let  me  know  where  I  stand  and  what  1  am !  — 


44  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

[Seizes  the  letter  and  tears  it  open;  reads. 
"  My  son,  the  tidings  of  your  great  misfortune 
Have  filled  your  mother  and  myself  with  grief. 
I  write  to  you  at  once,  that  such  support 
As  a  fond  father's  counsels,  sympathy, 
Can  give  a  child,  you  may  receive  from  me. — 
And  first,  my  son,  forget  not  in  your  sorrow 
By  whom  this  blow  is  struck.     Bow  reverently 
Before  that  Higher  Will  which  prostrates  ours. 
Oh,  who  shall  say,  my  son,  that  this  reverse 
Has  fallen  upon  us  wholly  undeserved? 
Our  pride  in  our  great  wealth,  our  ancient  name, 
Was  it  unmarked  of  Heaven  ?     Oh,  my  Herbert, 
A  haughty  spirit  goes  before  a  fall ! 
We  should  have  thought  of  this.     But,  since  we  have  not, 
What  now  remains  is  to  conform  ourselves 
To  the  decrees  of  Heaven,  —  so  to  act 
As  not  to  merit  further  chastisement. — 
And  first,  we  must  consider  what  to  do 
With  this  poor  child  whom  we  supposed  our  own. 
It  is  not  to  be  thought  of  that  a  child 
Who  has  your  features  and  has  borne  your  name 
Should  take  his  place  among  the  other  servants."  — 

[Herbert,  interrupting  himself. 

The  other  servants  !     God !  the  other  servants ! 
,0h,  Hecate !  Hellcat !  were  you  but  my  slave  !  — 

[Reads. 

"  Still  less  could  he  continue  in  your  house, 
Being  what  he  is,  as  your  acknowledged  child. 
What  I  have  thought  of  is :  Your  mother's  sister 


SENTENCE.  45 

Married  —  it  was  a  sorrow  at  the  time  — 
A  Northern  man  of  no  account.     She  died. 
But  she  left  children.     They  're  not  too  well  off. 
The  second  son  —  now,  it  appears,  a  poet  — 
Was  tutor  once  to  Richard  Stanley's  son."  — 

As  if  I  did  not  know  it !     What  of  him  ?  — 

"  It  was  before  you  were  engaged  to  Helen. 
You  may  not  recollect  him.     Good  young  man. 
Another  brother  is  a  clergyman. 
One  of  them  would  perhaps  receive  the  child, 
And,  for  a  moderate  remuneration, 
Superintend  his  bringing  up.  —  Of  course 
The  boy  is  not  to  know  his  history."  — 
[Breaking  off". 

I  am  not  prone  to  hate,  —  but  if  there  lives 

A  man  whom  I  could  hate,  't  is  this  James  Leslie. 

Did  he  not  dare  to  raise  his  eyes  to  Helen  ? 

I  saw  it  well,  though  Helen  did  not  see  it,  — 

I  think  she  did  not,  —  but  my  eyes  were  sharpened 

By  love  and  —  no,  not  jealousy ;  poor  devil, 

He  was  not  worth  it.     But  his  mad  presumption 

Awoke  contemptuous  anger,  as  it  should. 

I  read  him  through  :  this  man  who  taught  for  money 

Not  only  dared  admire  my  future  bride, 

But  even  to  think  I  was  not  worthy  of  her. 

His  grave  politeness  did  not  take  me  in. 

I  felt  his  thoughts.     Of  late  I  've  often  seen 

His  trumpery  books  lying  on  Helen's  table. 


46  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

That  crazy  hag  read  them  aloud  to  her.  — 
Was  ever  man  so  tortured  and  perplexed  ?  — 
[Heads. 

"  It  will  be  safe  to  trust  him  to  the  Leslies, 
Paying  each  year  a  regular  allowance 
For  his  support,  and  leaving  to  themselves 
The  choice  of  trade,  or  business,  or  profession 
That  he  shall  be  brought  up  to.     They  're  good  people. 
Something  Quixotic  in  them,  —  like  their  mother : 
But  that 's  the  reason  that  I  think  of  them 
For  this  commission.     They  '11  do  better  by  him 
Than  if  he  were  the  heir  of  name  and  wealth."  — 

Do  better  by  him !     Yes,  I  well  believe  it !  — 

Of  name  and  wealth  indeed !     He  's  Helen's  child  !  — 

A  compensation?     They  will  not  receive  it, 

And  I  'm  to  be  beholden  for  a  favor  !  — 

James  Leslie  guardian  to  my  Helen's  child! 

What  do  I  say  ?  father  to  Helen's  child ! 

The  child  is  not  to  know  his  birth;  this  Leslie 

Will  take  the  place,  if  not  the  name  of  father; 

Perhaps  even  that !   How  keep  from  Helen  the  knowledge 

Of  her  child's  fate  ?     Even  if  I  concealed  it, 

Some  one  would  tell  her.     These  things  will  leak  out. 

Too  many  confidants  in  all  these  matters. 

Leslie  himself  would  leave  no  stone  unturned 

To  bring  it  to  her  knowledge.     'T  were  as  well 

At  once  to  let  her  know  as  try  to  hide  it. 

And  then  —  then  there  would  be  a  tie  between  them ! 

None  binds  her  now  to  me  —  except  her  love : 


SENTENCE.  47 

I  think  she  loves  me.     Yes,  her  sweet  submission 
To  all  my  whims,  her  anxious  care  to  please  me, 
Her  gentle  patience,  —  these  are  evidence 
She  loves  me.     Yes,  I  can  be  sure  of  that. 
She  loves  me  now ;  I  have  this  hold  upon  her. 
But  if  she  make  demands  upon  my  love 
More  than  I  ought  to  grant  ?  —  I  half  foresee 
She  may  expect  what  is  impossible  :  — 
Will  not  her  love  then  cool  ?     No  duty  binds  her. 
She  is  no  more  my  wife ;  not  yet  —  my  slave. 
This  must  be  seen  to  ere  another  day. 
No  one  as  yet  has  called  my  right  in  question, 
'T  is  true ;  —  but  then  if  she  herself  should  do  it  ? 
Hecate  was  made  free  by  her  master's  will, 
And  Perdita,  —  the  daughter  now  and  heiress. 
But  Helen  —  what  is  she  —  and  whose  ?  —  My  father 
Regards  me  still  as  master  of  her  fate. 
And  so  I  am,  of  course,  in  any  case. 
Who  would  dispute  my  claim  ?     Absurd !  absurd  !  — 
This  will  be  soon  arranged.  —  Well,  what 's  the  rest  ? 
I  left  off  here.     Yes.  — 
[Reads. 

"  They  '11  do  better  by  him 
Than  if  he  were  the  heir  of  name  and  wealth. 
So  put  your  mind  at  ease.     I  '11  write  to-day 
And  have  the  matter  settled.     Then  dismiss  it 
Forever  from  your  thoughts. 

"  Beside  the  child, 

There  is  the  wretched  mother  to  be  thought  of. 
We  must  not,  even  in  this  first  bitter  moment, 


48  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

Commit  injustice;  we  must  not  forget 

That  she  herself  is  guiltless  of  this  crime 

Which  has  involved  our  families  in  gloom ; 

Nor  that  she  sought,  by  frank  and  full  confession, 

To  make  atonement  for  the  long  imposture. 

These  things  considered,  let  us  do  by  her 

As  justice,  prudence,  Christian  charity 

Require  of  us.     I  am  convinced,  my  son, 

You  will  not  for  a  single  moment  think 

Of  keeping  this  unhappy  woman  near  you."  — 

Not  think  of  it  ?     I  think  of  nothing  else  !  — 

"  Though,  in  some  points  of  view,  the  case  might  seem 

To  call  for  more  excuse  than  do  the  most 

Of  these  unhallowed  unions,  yet  in  others 

It  would  be  still  more  reprehensible. 

The  facts  have  been  so  public,  she  herself 

Is  so  well  known,  has  held  such  a  position, 

'T  would  make  much  talk.     All  circumstances  tend 

To  give  the  matter  notoriety."  — 

Well,  that  'a  true,  too.     I  must  think  out  some  plan.  — 

"  I  will  not  dwell  on  this.     You  are  the  last 
To  offer  such  a  scandal  to  the  world."  — 

Yes,  to  be  sure,  —  it  is  not  very  pleasant 
To  be  the  fable  of  society. — 


SENTENCE.  49 

[Beads. 

"  I  Ve  thought  of  several  plans  myself.     One  is, 
To  let  her,  too,  be  taken  to  the  North."  — 

Never!  —  whatever  else  I  do,  that  never!  — 

"  With  her  accomplishments,  she  could  perhaps 

Maintain  herself  with  very  little  aid. 

But  to  this  plan  there  are  some  grave  objections."  — 

I  should  have  found  them  out,  if  you  had  not.  — 

"  First,  she  would  not  be  parted  from  her  child. 
He  would  then  know  his  history,  and  later 
This  might  give  rise  to  inconveniences. 
Then  her  appearance  and  her  manners  and  all 
Would  mark  her  out :  she  could  not  live  obscurely. 
The  story  would  be  bruited  everywhere; 
'T  would  have  no  chance  to  die  away  ;  and  thus 
This  frightful  scandal  would  invest  our  name, 
Wherever  it  was  heard.     Still  other  reasons 
Suggest  themselves  to  me,  —  but  these  the  chief. 
In  fact,  it  is  a  great  deal  harder  question, 
How  to  dispose  of  her,  than  of  the  child. 
The  plan  I  Ve  thought  of  for  the  present  moment 
Is,  to  convey  her  quietly  at  once 
To  the  plantation  of  your  Aunt  Elise. 
On  this  retired  estate  she  will  be  safe 
From  prying  eyes,  malicious  observations, 
From  all  the  miseries  she  must  undergo, 
D 


50  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

If  she  continued  in  the  neighborhood 

Of  what  she  once  considered  as  her  home. 

There  in  retirement  she  can  school  herself 

To  bear  this  blow,  and,  in  your  good  aunt's  charge, 

Will  by  degrees  become  habituated 

To  a  new  mode  of  life.     We  can  decide 

Hereafter  on  some  permanent  arrangement."  — 

What  does  he  think  of  me  ?     Have  I  no  heart  ? 
No  natural  feeling?     Shall  I  send  this  woman, 
This  lovely,  gentle,  tender,  feeling  woman, 
A  woman  who  has  been  two  years  my  wife, 
Shall  I,  then,  send  her  to  wear  out  her  days 
In  worse  than  solitude,  —  in  base  dependence 
On  that  close-handed,  psalm-singing  old  maid? 
No,  —  if  I  did  not  love  her,  she  should  have 
A  better  lot  than  that ;  but,  as  it  is; 
I  cannot  lose  her,  cannot  part  from  her 
Even  for  a  time.     Now  first  I  know  how  strong, 
How  deep  my  love  for  her.     Now  first  I  learn 
How  priceless  in  herself  this  lovely  creature. 
The  wealth  and  rank  that  seemed  a  part  of  her 
Are  stripped  away,  but  she  has  nothing  lost. 
They  took  from  her  more  lustre  than  they  lent. 
No,  —  come  what  will,  I  do  not  give  her  up. 
Thus  far  I  will  respect  my  father's  wishes : 
I  will  not  be  the  cause  of  open  scandal ; 
I  will  find  out  some  way  to  reconcile 
My  love  with  what  I  owe  my  reputation. — 


SENTENCE.  51 

[Reads. 

"  Trust  all  to  me.     I  will  consult  and  act. 
Fear  nothing.     I  shall  soon  work  out  some  plan 
Which  will  secure  her  comfort  and  your  peace."  — 

I  will  provide  for  both.     Trust  all  to  me 

Rather,  my  father.     Trust,  and  ask  no  questions. — 

"  Things  must  be  so  arranged  that  she  will  never 

Be  seen  or  heard  of  in  our  world  again. 

For  you,  my  son,  I  know  this  separation 

Will  be  one  trial  more.     Let  sense  of  duty, 

Let  manly  honor,  strengthen  you  to  bear  it. 

Remember  what  you  owe  yourself,  your  name ; 

Nor  let  a  weak  affection  make  you  falter. 

As  soon  as  you  are  calm  enough  to  hear  me, 

I  wish  to  have  a  serious  talk  with  you. 

The  surest  way  to  throw  the  matter  off 

And  bring  the  whole  thing  to  oblivion 

Will  be,  when  all  this  has  been  duly  settled, 

To  form  a  new  connection.     With  your  fortune, 

With  your  advantages  of  every  sort, 

You  can  command  as  excellent  a  match 

As  we  thought  this  was  at  the  time  you  made  it. 

Your  mother  has  already  in  her  eye 

But  this  is  premature."  — 

Indeed,  I  think  so ! 

Another  marriage  ?  —  now  ?  —  oh,  monstrous  thought ! 
Yet  't  is  my  father's  own.  — 


52  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

"  We  soon  shall  meet ; 

Till  then,  my  son,  God  have  you  in  His  keeping! 
That  He  may  give  you  strength  to  bear  this  blow, 
And  to  act  under  it  as  virtue  bids, 
Is  the  devout  petition  of 

Your  father."  — 

[Herbert  stands  musing  with  the  letter  in  his  hand,  then: 
Who  can  it  be,  though,  that  my  mother  thought  of  ? 

Perhaps No,  hardly  probable ;  she  is  not 

Quite  rich  enough  to  satisfy  my  mother. 

Or No,  they  know  I  would  not  think  of  her. 

Then Ah,  I  have  it !  now  I  know  their  choice ! 

Yes,  she  was  but  a  child  when  I  was  married ; 

But  now  sixteen,  a  beauty  and  an  heiress, 

And  our  near  neighbor:  yes,  I  see  it  all. 

They  might  as  well  have  told  me.     Yes,  I  see. 

If  I  were  free,  it  would  not  be  so  bad !  — 

Am  I  not  free  ?  —  Good  God  !  where  go  my  thoughts  ? 

Could  Helen  see  them  !     But  she  cannot  see  them. 

In  act  I  will  not  wound  her ;  no,  I  will  not !  — 

Yet  if,  hereafter,  many  years  hereafter, 

When  all  that  now  is  new  and  terrible 

Has  taken  its  place  among  the  things  that  are, 

When  equally  our  sorrow  and  our  love 

Have  learned  to  hold  themselves  within  the  channel 

Of  every-day  emotions,  —  what  if  then 

I  should  fulfil  my  duty  to  my  parents 

And  to  society,  and 

[  Checking  himself  abruptly. 

Wait  till  then! 


SENTENCE.  53 

Down,  down,  intrusive  thoughts  !     You  make  me  feel  — 

Me,  who  am  known  the  soul  of  truth  and  honor  — 

As  if  my  bosom  harbored  hidden  treasons. — 

Treason  to  whom  ?     To  one  who  at  this  moment 

Plots,  perhaps,  how  she  may  resist  my  claims  ! 

If  so,  if  she  have  cherished  even  a  doubt 

Whether  she  still  be  solely,  wholly  mine, 

Then  was  her  heart  the  first  to  be  unfaithful, 

Then  she  herself  has  broken  the  spirit-bond 

Which  only  holds  her  now.  —  Whence  this  distrust  ? 

Have  I  not  always  known  her  fond,  devoted  ? 

In  that  soft  heart  can  pride  do  more  than  love  ? 

Could  she  who  was  so  gentle,  so  compliant, 

In  her  bright  days,  grow  hard  and  positive 

Now  in  her  poverty  and  helplessness  ? 

Impossible !     And  yet  some  inward  instinct 

Refutes  my  reasons  and  suggests  a  doubt.  — 

I  cannot  live  thus.     This  unsettled  state 

Is  worse  to  bear  than  any  certainty. 

This  interview,  so  dreaded,  so  decisive,  — 

It  must  take  place ;  already,  this  delay, 

What  thoughts  may  it  have  waked  in  Helen's  mind !  — 

Am  I  prepared  ?     Do  I  myself  yet  know 

What  I  can  promise,  what  I  must  refuse  ? 

My  mind  is  still  in  chaos.     In  her  presence 

What  hope  to  find  the  calmness  that  now  fails  me  ? 

Let  me  at  least  be  clear  in  my  own  thoughts.  — 

Is  it  of  thee  I  speak,  my  own  sweet  Helen  ? 


54  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

Is  it  thy  gentle  presence  that  I  fear? 
To  answer  thee  I  would  prepare  myself? 
I  am  prepared  for  all,  except  to  lose  thee  ! 

[Goes  out  haetily. 


SENTENCE.  55 


SENTENCE. 

SCENE  III. 

The,  large,  low  room  in  which  Helen  and  Alice  sat  together  in  the  Sec 
ond  Act  of  the  Tragedy  of  Errors.  The  flowers  are  still  where  Alice 
placed  them,  but  neglected  and  withered.  HELEN  seated  on  a  low 
chair,  near  a  large  sofa,  on  which  lies  a  sleeping  child;  she  looks 
towards  the  door,  as  if  listening  for  some  one's  approach. 


An  hour  ago  I  heard  his  horse's  feet. 

He  does  not  come.   What  feeling  keeps  him  from  me? — 

A  letter  from  his  father  waited  for  him. 

He  stays  to  read.     Would  he  have  stayed  to  read  it 

A  week  ago  ?  —  Perhaps  the  load  of  anguish 

He  's  borne  about  with  him  for  three  long  days 

Has  weighed  him  down  at  length.   His  last  strength  fails ! 

Perhaps  he  lies,  while  I  conjecture  here, 

Helpless  in  fever !     Oh,  he  calls  my  name ! 

[She  starts  tip. 
And  I  stay  here  ?     I  hesitate  to  seek  him  ?  — 

[She  sinks  down  again. 

Ah,  even  in  the  forming  of  these  fears 

My  heart  refutes  them !     No,  he  calls  me  not ! 

But,  sunk  in  reverie,  listless  and  dejected, 

He  broods  upon  the  sorrows  I  have  caused  him. 

He  has  not  strength  to  come  and  face  my  anguish ; 

He  has  not  strength  to  look  upon  our  boy. 


56  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

His  ruined  life  he  sees  spread  out  before  him, — 
The  past  a  mockery,  the  future  blank ; 
Hope,  memory,  henceforth  alike  forbidden !  — 

[Rising. 

He  suffers,  and  I  li ve  and  am  not  there  !  — 

[Moves  forward,  but  checks  herself  again. 
Unbidden  ?  — 

'T  is  my  grief  he  fears  to  meet. 
When  he  shall  see  me  strong  and  calm  and  patient, 
Ready  to  bear  whatever  must  be  borne, 
He  will  be  strong.     We  will  consult  together 
How  this  misfortune  may  be  best  supported, 
How  its  effects  made  lighter  to  our  child.  — 
And  yet  I  go  not !     What  spell  holds  me  here  ? 
Oh,  what  new  feebleness  is  this?     My  mind 
Has  lost  its  equipoise.     I  know  no  longer 
How  to  distinguish  my  own  selfish  wishes 
Or  pride's  suggestions  from  the  voice  of  conscience. 
Where  lies   the   right  ?  —  Seek   strength   and   light   in 
prayer !  — 

Oh,  in  this  ruin  is  my  faith,  too,  shipwrecked? 
No,  no  !  my  faith  in  God  is  firm !  —  In  man  ? 


[She  covers  her  eyes  with  her  hand  for  a  moment,  then: 

My  soul,  oh,  own  not  even  to  thyself 

What  fearful  doubt  stands  between  thee  and  him  ! 

Let  me  save  these,  at  least,  —  my  love,  my  trust! 

Oh,  I  will  rescue  them  by  force  of  prayer !  — 

And  yet,  when  He,  the  Great,  the  Holy  One, 

In  that  dread  night  whose  morrow  was  to  find  Him 


SENTENCE.  57 

Alone  on  earth,  instinct  with  earth's  affections, — 

His  life  divided  from  the  common  life, 

His  human  heart  from  human  sympathies,  — 

When  even  He,  turning  for  help  to  Heaven, 

Prayed  that  the  cup  might  pass  from  Him,  it  passed  not. 

O  God,  the  strength  that  we  may  ask  of  Thee 
Is  strength  to  bear,  and  not  to  overcome ! 
Forgive  my  failing  heart  its  fears,  its  faintness, 
Father  and  God !     Behold  thy  child,  thy  servant ! 
Aid  me  to  say,  to  feel,  Thy  will  be  done  ! 

[Fervently. 

Thy  will  be  done ! 

[A  door  is  heard  to  close  violently.  A  few  moments  after,  foot 
steps  are  heard  approaching  along  the  corridor. 

And  yet  —  yet  if  it  might  be, 
Oh,  let  the  cup  yet  pass  from  me,  my  Father! 

[HERBERT  enters  hastily;  stops  a  moment  near  the  door.  Helen 
rises  as  he  enters,  advances  a  few  steps,  and  then  remains 
standing.  Herbert  comes  suddenly  forward  and  clasps  her 
in  his  arms. 

HERBERT,  holding  her  from  him,  and  gazing  at  her  mth  tenderness 
and  admiration. 

My  Helen  !  — 
[Aside. 

And  I  thought  of  parting  from  her !  — 
[Aloud. 

You  do  not  speak !     You  have  no  welcome  for  me  ? 
No  smile  ?     Has  one  week  made  a  change  like  this  ? 


58  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

HELEN. 

A  week  has  made  great  changes. 

HERBERT. 

And  in  you? 

Are  you  not  still  my  love,  my  pride,  my  Helen  ? 
i 

HELEN,  aside. 

Oh,  noble  heart !     Did  I 1  could  not  doubt  him  ! 


I  see  that  sweet  smile  dawning.     My  own  treasure, 
You  could  not  for  an  instant  doubt  my  love  ? 

HELEN,  aside. 

What  shame  is  mine,  that  I  could  dare  to  doubt! 
Oh,  would  I  could  forget  that  moment's  treason!  — 

[Almid. 

Oh,  Herbert,  tell  me  that  your  love  is  left  me  ! 
With  that,  and  with  my  child,  I  have  lost  nothing.  — 

Yet,  if — dear  Herbert,  if But  it  is  not  so! 

Yet,  if  it  had  been,  —  if  you  had  been  changed, 
I  should  not  still  have  had  the  right  to  blame  you. 
Great  is  my  gratitude  to  you  and  Heaven 
That  this  last  trial  was  not  laid  on  me  !  — • 

[After  a  pause,  in  a  low,  tremulous  voice. 

But,  if  the  blight  that  rests  upon  my  name, 
Invading  all,  had  even  touched  thy  love, 
Not  even  by  a  look  had  I  reproached  thee. 
Silent  or  blessing  thee,  I  would  have  passed 


SENTENCE.  59 

Forth  from  my  Eden,  from  my  golden  time, 

To  the  cold  rigors  of  the  iron  world. 

Too  well  I  know  the  costly  sacrifice 

Fidelity  to  me  must  ask  of  thee  !  — 

Oh,  Herbert,  and  thy  love  has  strength  for  all  ? 

HERBERT. 

My  love  ?     Oh,  were  I  but  secure  of  thine ! 

HELEN,  looking  at  him  anxiously. 

Herbert,  consider  well.     It  is  not  question 

Of  courage  to  resolve  a  generous  deed, 

But  of  that  patient  strength  which  day  by  day 

Supports  the  oppressive  burden.     Hast  thou  this  ? 

Where'er  we  go,  our  story  goes  with  us. — 

I  have  thought  over  all.  —  Canst  thou  support 

The  averted  look,  the  smile,  the  curious  glance? 

Canst  thou  look  forward  to  the  lifelong  exile 

That  must  divide  thee  from  thy  friends,  thy  parents  ? 

The  sojourn  in  another,  ruder  clime, 

Amid  new  scenes  and  uncongenial  manners  ? 

All  this  must  be  resolved  upon  and  borne, 

If  thou  wouldst  keep  thy  faith  to  me  unbroken. 

In  every  other  land  I  am  thy  wife,  — 

Only  not  here.     Hast  thou  considered  this  ? 

Hast  thou  bethought  thee  that  thy  childhood's  home, 

That  home  so  loved,  the  birthplace  of  thy  fathers, 

Must  pass  to  foreign  hands  when  thou  art  gone  ? 

Thou  hast  a  son,  but  hast  henceforth  no  heir. 

[Herbert  turns  away  his  eyes. 


60  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

Hast  them No,  thou  hast  not  considered  this. 

Thou  didst  but  feel  that  all  was  light  to  love. 
I  bless  thee  for  thy  generous  thoughtlessness. 
Thou  hast  been  true ;  thou  hast  been  self-forgetting. 
My  trust  in  thee  is  safe.     All  other  loss 
I  can  encounter  with  courageous  heart. 

[Herbert  is  about  to  interrupt  her.     She  stops  him  by  a  gesture, 
and  goes  on  in  a  low,  but  firm  voice. 

Hear  me,  my  Herbert!     Other  is  my  duty 
Than  thine :  not  to  forget,  but  to  remember, 
Belongs  to  me.     Thou  hast  fulfilled  thy  part ; 
I  will  not  fail  in  mine.     I  must  defend  thee 
From  thy  own  heart,  —  must  guard  thy  happiness, 
Thy  parents'  peace,  from  thy  rash  self-devotion. 
Before  thou  cam'st,  I  was  prepared  for  this  ; 
I  had  considered,  had  decided  all. 
But  when  I  knew  thee  near  me,  my  heart  faltered. 
When  I  beheld  thee,  when  I  heard  thy  voice, 
A  momentary  dream  involved  my  soul,  — 
A  dream  sweet,  deadly,  like  betraying  visions 
That  court  the  wayfarer  on  Alpine  heights 
From  the  steep  path,  to  fatal,  soft  repose. 
Thy  truth,  thy  courage,  give  me  back  my  own. 
Herbert,  we  part !  for  this  life's  term  we  part  !  — 
Hear  me  with  calm !  —  Not  ours  the  bitter  parting 
Of  souls  disjoined,  —  the  parting  without  hope  ; 
But,  loving  and  respecting  each  the  other, 
We  take  our  separate  paths  to  one  same  goal, 
The  home  of  consolation  and  reunion. 


SENTENCE.  61 

HERBERT. 

Part  ?  —  and  in  this  cold  tone  to  talk  of  parting  ? 


Not  cold,  but  firm.     My  duty  calls  me  on: 
I  have  no  choice  but  to  arise  and  follow. 
Lighter  to  me  the  pain  of  the  decision 
Than  to  thee,  Herbert.     I  must  be  the  exile ; 
I  must  go  forth  orphaned  of  home  and  kindred. 
Hardly  couldst  thou  have  passed  on  me  this  sentence; 
And  yet  it  must  be  passed.     I  call  it  on  me, 
Nor  wait  the  second  thought  of  thy  cool  judgment. 


I  pass  on  thee  the  doom  of  separation 
That  thy  lips  coldly  thus  pronounce  on  me? 
Little  thou  know'st  my  heart ! 

My  own  sweet  Helen ! 

Thou  hast  no  common  courage,  and  for  thee 
I  could  brave  much, — brave  all:  my  friends'  displeasure, 
The  world's  reproach,  —  I  can  submit  to  these, 
Let  me  but  keep  thee ;  and  I  know  thy  love, 
Though  calm  and  gentle,  is  profound  and  strong. 
Thou  couldst  bear  much  for  me,  and  thy  clear  mind 
Looks  down  on  vulgar  prejudice.     A  name 
Is  not  a  spell  for  thee,  my  noble  Helen  ! 

HELEN,  aside. 
Oh,  whither  this  ?  —  What  dark  foreshadow  shrouds  me  ? 


62  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

[To  Herbert,  controlling  her  emotion  with  difficulty. 

Two  paths  lie  open  to  us.     A  far  land 
Might  offer  us  the  home  our  own  denies; 
But  this  demands  a  sacrifice  too  great 
For  thee  to  give,  too  great  for  me  to  ask : 
We  have  considered,  have  rejected  this. 
The  other  course  remains:  I  with  our  child 
Will  seek  the  foreign  home.     I  have  no  fear 
But  God  will  give  me  aid  to  guide  him  up 
To  be  a  noble  man.     This  for  my  life 
Is  work  enough,  is  happiness  enough. 

HERBERT. 

For  thine  ?     And  what  for  mine  ?     Does  no  third  course 
Offer,  that  reconciles  my  happiness 
With  thine  and  his  ?     Canst  thou  not  trust  my  love 
To  make  thy  home  secure  and  blest  even  here? 


Herbert,  be  just !     Unwilling  have  I  wronged  thee. 
Common  our  grief,  in  common  let  us  bear. 
Thou  wouldst  not  leave  me  all?     No,  thou  wilt  take 
Thy  part.     Forego  my  company  on  earth : 
Where'er  I  go,  I  will  be  true  to  thee, 
Hallowed  to  thee  throughout  eternity, — 
To  thee  and  to  our  child.     No  human  love 
Other  than  these  shall  share  my  heart  with  God. 

HERBERT. 

Yes,  Helen,  thou  art  still  in  heart  my  wife. 


SENTENCE.  63 

Why  shouldst  thou  leave  me?     Only  human  law 
Denies  a  name  that  before  God  is  thine. 
Thou  wilt  be  still  my  own  ?     Helen ! 


Thy  own, 

Though  seas  and  worlds  divided,  though  the  grave ! 
Only  not  thine,  if  thou  thyself  divorce. 
Our  souls  unsundered,  vain  are  space  and  time 
To  part  us ;  but  these  severed 

[  With  a  sudden  burst  of  entreaty. 

Oh,  set  not 
A  passless  gulf  between  thy  soul  and  mine  !  — 

[Herbert  averts  his  eyes.    Helen  observes  his  countenance  and  turns 
away  despondingly.      Aside. 

Oh,  weakness  harder  to  be  met  than  force ! 

He  has  not  strength  !     Did  I  not  know  it  ?     Shall  I 

Demand  of  him  what  Nature  has  denied? 

He  has  fine  gifts,  only  not  strength,  not  courage. 

And  has  he  not  been  wronged  ?     Does  he  not  suffer  ? 

I  will  forgive.     I  will  forgive  and  sue. 

HERBERT,  seeing  Tier  softened  expression. 
You  are  relenting  to  me  ? 


Hear  me,  Herbert  I 
I  have  been  called  your  wife,  have  borne  the  name 


64  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

Of  mother  to  the  child  you  thought  your  heir. 
Oh,  by  those  ties  that  no  deceit  of  mine 
Has  bound  you  in,  I  pray  you  hear  me  now ! 
Give  me  my  freedom !  give  my  child  his  freedom  ! 

HERBERT. 

Freedom?  what  freedom  do  you  ask,  my  Helen? 

Freedom  to  leave  me?  freedom  to  take  from  me 

All  that  I  have  in  life  ?     Oh,  think  of  me  ! 

Think  what  I  suffer !     Think  what  I  have  lost 

In  losing  thee!     How  have  I  gazed  on  thee, 

Seeing  thee  do  the  honors  of  my  house 

With  such  a  majesty  and  winning  grace 

Might  suit  an  empress :  pride  and  graciousness 

In  thy  high  bearing  so  exactly  mingled 

That  all  must  love,  yet  with  such  reverent  love 

As  a  saint  wins,  —  must  fear,  yet  with  such  fear 

As  the  pure  look  of  a  benignant  angel 

Might  wake  in  hearts  that  felt  themselves  less  pure  ! 

How  did  I  glory  in  the  look  of  homage 

That  Herbert's  wife  won  both  from  fop  and  sage ! 

How  did  I  smile  to  see  the  ill-cloaked  envy 

With  which  men  wished  me  joy  of  my  good-fortune ! 

"  So  beautiful  !  so  gifted !  such  an  heiress ! " 

Thus  ran  the  word.     And  now  to  find  myself 

HELEN,  aside. 

O  God !     O  God !  upon  what  treacherous  sands 
Has  my  hope  built ! 


SENTENCE.  65 

HERBERT,  seeing  her  look  of  anguish. 

Oh,  but  forgive  me,  Helen ! 
I  meant  thee  no  unkindness.     Thou  art  dearer, 
Far  dearer  now,  in  thy  humility, 
Thy  touching  sadness,  and  thy  downbent  brow, 
Than  in  thy  former  majesty  of  mien. 
Then,  when  I  looked  upon  thy  noble  beauty, 
Even  I,  thy  husband,  felt  a  secret  awe 
That  damped  my  love,  that  my  man's  pride  resented. 
Thy  altered  state  hath  equalled  thee  with  me. 
I  can  now  love  thee  truly  as  my  own,  — 
Not  as  the  wife  whose  proud  alliance  brought  me, 
Beside  herself,  an  ample  dower  of  lands : 
It  shall  be  mine  to  lavish  gifts  on  thee. 
Oh,  Helen,  thus  to  own  thee,  thus  to  love  thee, 
Thus  claim  thy  love,  this  is  the  only  thought 
That    holds    me    from    despair !      Oh,   turn    not    from 

me ! 

Look  not  so  pale,  so  stony !     Cruel  Helen ! 
Is  not  thy  Herbert's  anguish  more  than  thine  ? 
Thou  art  .still  rich  in  all  that  Nature  made  thee ; 
He  poor  indeed,  if  wholly  robbed  of  thee !  — 

[Pause. 

No  answer  yet  ?     Still  the  same  icy  paleness ! 
"What  shall  I  say  to  move  thee  ? 


Say  no  more, — 
Lest  I  go  forth  too  desolate ! 


66  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

HERBERT. 

Go  forth? 

This  thy  last  word  ?  —  Such  is  the  love  of  woman  ! 
My  happiness,  my  love,  are  nothing  to  her ! 
Her  pride  is  all ! 

HELEN. 

Had  God  demanded  of  me 
A  life  of  servitude,  of  rugged  toil, — 
Had  He  appointed  me  to  expiate 
The  wrong  done  to  the  ruined  Agatha 
By  lifelong  service,  I  had  rendered  her 
A  sister's  tenderness,  a  servant's  duty, 
Nor  felt  myself  degraded.     But  to  thee 
I  cannot  be  a  slave.     Thou,  my  child's  father, 
Must  be  what  thou  hast  been  to  me,  or  nothing. 


What  a  stern  look!     She  never  spoke  to  me 
In  this  high  way.     Instead  of  being  humbler, 
From  gentle  and  modest  she  is  growing  haughty. 
She  lays  me  down  the  law  as  if 

HELEN,  gravely. 

Events 

Have  traced  my  course  for  me,  nor  left  me  choice. 
The  highest  duty  God  has  laid  on  mortals 
Is  that  of  parent. 

[Her  voice  fails.    Softly  and  imploringly. 

Thou  hast  shared  with  me 
Till  now  this  office.    We  have  watched  together, 


SENTENCE.  67 

Eejoiced  together,  trembled,  hoped  together  : 
Dost  thou  renounce  the  sacred  partnership  ? 

[She  approaches  the  couch  on  which  the  child  lies. 
Oh,  canst  thou  give  to  shame  this  cherished  head  ? 
To  shame,  to  misery,  perhaps  to  guilt  ? 
Not  the  rude  storm  that  swept  our  home  and  scattered 
Our  earthly  vows  has  left  him  fatherless, 
If  thou  rend  not  the  spiritual  bonds. 

HEEBEKT. 

Thou  fearest  for  the  child  ?     He  shall  not  suffer. 
He  will  not  be  a  slave.     At  seven  years  old, 
Or  sooner  still,  he  shall  be  sent  elsewhere, 
And  brought  up  as  thyself  shalt  indicate. 
And  other  children,  if  there  should  be  more, 
Shall  in  like  manner  be  provided  for 
As  shall  befit  thy  merits  and  my  love, 
Not  their  supposed  condition.     Lay  aside 
These  idle  fears  !     Let  no  false  sense  of  duty 
Divide  thee  from  thy  home  and  from  my  love, 

Which  shall  but  be  more  tender,  more 

[He  approaches  her  tenderly. 

HELEN. 

Desist 
To  urge  a  plea  that  is  already  judged. 

[She  takes  up  the  sleeping  child  and  folds  him  in  her  arms. 
Henceforth  I  am  the  guardian  of  this  orphan, 
And  know  no  other  tie ! 

[She  goes  towards  the  door. 


68  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

HERBERT. 

Do  you  defy  me? 

HELEN. 

Defy  not  God!     With  Him  I  leave  my  cause. 

[Goes. 


TRAGEDY    OF    SUCCESS. 


APPEAL. 


TKAGEDY    OF    SUCCESS. 


APPEAL. 

SCENE    I. 

In  front  of  the  house  at  Belrespiro.    HERMANN  enters.    Just  before 
reaching  the  steps,  he  stops. 

HERMANN. 

Ah,  I  'm  quite  out  of  breath !     I  've  come  too  fast !  — 

I  wonder  no  one  thought  of  me  before. 

I,  her  old  tutor,  I,  her  second  father, 

What  man  so  fit  as  I  to  be  her  guardian  ? 

And  't  will  be  hard,  if,  in  this  growing  country, 

Where  every  man  wants  more  or  less  instruction, 

What  I  've  to  offer  does  not  find  a  market.  — 

And  I  shall  have  a  family  to  work  for ! 

A  daughter  and  a  grandchild  of  my  own  ! 

How  the  thought  thrills  my  heart !    My  own !  my  own  !  — 

[He  goes  on ;  when  he  reaches  the  steps,  he  pauses  again. 
So  here  I  am !     Now  comes  the  fit  of  chill !  — 
Herbert, — I  never  liked  him, — how  approach  him? — 
Will  he  accept,  will  he  disdain  my  offer  ?  — 
Ah,  cowardice  has  always  been  your  bane  ! 


72  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

You  have  good  thoughts,  but  want  the  resolution 
To  carry  out.     Come  on,  then,  Hermann !     Courage  ! 
Leave  yourself  no  retreat!     Once  entered  there, 
You  've  passed  the  Rubicon,  and  all  must  dare  ! 
[Goes  hastily  up  the  steps  and  enters  the  house. 


APPEAL.  73 


APPEAL. 

SCENE    H. 
A  room  in  (he  house  at  Belrespiro.    HERBERT  alone. 

HERBERT. 

What  can  he  want,  this  tiresome  German  pedant? 

I  will  be  bound  he  comes  to  speak  of  Helen  ! 

He  has  no  tact,  the  boor,  no  delicacy ! 

How  dare  he  interlope  in  my  affairs? 

Why  do  I  see  him  ?     My  absurd  good-nature ! 

I  might  have  sent  him  word But  here  he  is !  — 

[Enter  HERMANN. 

Good  morning,  Sir.     I  hear  you  've  business  with  me. 
Forgive  me,  if  I  ask  you  to  be  brief. 
You  must  have  heard  that  family  events 

HERMANN. 

You  know  what  place  I  held,  Sir,  in  this  house. 


Undoubtedly. 

HERMANN. 

You  cannot,  then,  suppose 
That  these  events  concern  me  not. 


I  thank  you, 


74  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

Good  Doctor,  for  your  well-intentioned  visit. 
I  know  that  you,  with  all  our  other  friends, 
Feel  for  us  in  these  family  afflictions. 
But  I  am  sure  you  will  not  be  surprised 
That  I  prefer  to  bear  my  part  of  them 
In  solitude  and  silence.     Therefore,  Doctor, 
Unless  you  have  some  special  business  with  me 

HERMANN,  with  resolution. 

Most  special,  Sir !     I  had  not  else  intruded. 
The  lady  who  was  daughter  of  this  house, 
What  dispositions  will  be  made  for  her? 


HERBERT. 


Sir,  you  forget  to  whom  you  speak,  —  of  whom. 

HERMANN,  as  before. 

No,  I  remember  both.     You  had  a  claim 

Upon  this  lady,  which  is  now  extinct. 

She  is  left  guardianless.     To  other  hands 

Must  pass  the  trust  that  you  have  just  laid  down. 

What  hands  more  fit  than  those  of  her  old  tutor? 

I  know  that  you  are  in  embarrassment. 

I  can  deliver  you.     I  will  adopt  her,  — 

Will  take  her  with  me  to  some  Northern  State. 

She  shall  assume  my  name ;  shall  be  the  wife 

Of  some  dead  son  of  mine ;  her  child,  my  grandson. 

Thus  she  will  pass  from  sight,  from  memory. 

You  will  be  free  to  frame  a  new  existence. 

For  us,  we  shall  be  simply  foreigners. 


APPEAL.  75 

No  one  will  scan  our  former  history, 
Or  doubt  that  we  are  other  than  we  seem. 
When  time  has  softened  her  regrets  to  calm, 
My  daughter  will  be  happy.     Her  strong  heart 
Will  bear  up  bravely  against  this  reverse. 
She  is  not  one  of  those  who  sink  and  faint, 
But  will  take  up  the  burden  God  appoints 
With  a  courageous  will. 

[More  gently. 

And,  credit  me, 

The  tenderest  father  could  not  be  more  watchful, 
More  careful,  more  assiduous,  more  foreseeing, 
Than  I  will  be  for  her.     Accept  my  offer ! 
All  will  be  reconciled :  your  peace  of  mind, 
Her  happiness,  the  little  boy's  best  good. 

HERBERT,  aside. 

Rose  ever  impudence  to  such  a  pitch  ? 

Helen  his  daughter!     My  own  son  his  grandson! — 

What  do  I  say  ?     O  God,  I  have  no  son  ! 

And  Helen  —  I  have  not  even  now  her  love ! 

This  vile  old  German  has  more  claim  than  I! 

He  speaks  the  truth :  she  is  more  his  than  mine. 

HERMANN. 

Accept !  accept !  — 
[Aside. 

How  shall  I  read  his  silence  ? 
Is  he  ashamed  to  tell  me  he  forsakes  her? 


76  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

HERBERT,  aside. 

And  even  for  this  she  never  shall  be  his. 

HERMANN,  aside. 

Or  is  it  rage  at  my  audacity? 

[Observing  Herbert. 

How  will  it  turn  ?    Ah,  ill  for  you,  my  Helen ! 

HERBERT,  aside. 

Happy !  he  promise  me  she  shall  be  happy  ! 
Happy  apart  from  me !  hate  me  and  happy !  — 
And  there  he  stands,  the  meddlesome  old  pedant! 
How  shall  I  answer  him?  how  put  him  off? 

HERMANN. 

Have  you  no  answer  for  me  yet  ?     Accept ! 
All  will  be  over  in  two  days.     Your  mind 
Will  be  at  ease,  your  conscience  satisfied. — 

[Aside. 
I  '11  press  him  close.     Sudden  resolves  are  easiest. 

HERBERT,  aside. 

Hear  him !  as  if  it  were  the  simplest  thing 
For  me  to  part  from  this  unequalled  creature 
Who  was  till  now  the  essence  of  my  life  ! 
How  should  he  feel  for  me,  the  musty  bookworm  ? 

[Aloud. 

Have  you  so  misinterpreted  my  silence? 
Think  not  that  I  was  pondering  your  advice ; 
I  only  sought  how  I  might  say  politely 


APPEAL.  77 

That  which,  however  said,  may  sound  but  harsh. 
I  have  no  need  of  counsel  or  of  aid ; 
I  will  myself  be  my  own  conscience-keeper ; 
I  will  myself  guard  my  own  ease  of  mind. 
Your  well-meant  offer  I  decline,  and  beg 
That  my  affairs  may  not  detain  you  here. 


My  own  affairs  detain  me  here.     My  pupil 
Is  in  this  house.     You  were  till  now  her  husband. 
Had  you  retained  your  rights,  I  had  been  silent. 
You  lay  them  down,  and  here  my  charge  begins. 
The  husband's  claim  being  null,  the  rights  of  friendship 
Resume  their  force.     Two  courses  were  before  you : 
Or  to  resign  your  wife  and  send  her  from  you> 
Never  to  meet  with  you  again  on  earth, 
Or  to  be  true  to  her  and  share  her  exile. 
It  seems  you  could  not  make  a  sacrifice. 

HERBERT. 

Yes,  —  every  sacrifice  but  that  of  honor  ! 


Honor?     How  shall  I  understand  you?     Honor? 

HERBERT,  impatient  and  embarrassed. 

I  cannot  give  the  name  of  wife  to  one, 
However  lovely  and  however  pure, 
Whose  birth  is  tainted.     Exile  I  could  bear, 
Loss  of  wealth  even  I  could  bear  for  her. 


78  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

[Recovering  his  self-possession. 

But  honor,  —  duty,  —  here  I  have  no  choice. 
Could  I  myself  resolve  to  bear  the  weight 
Of  a  dishonored  name,  have  I  the  right 
To  inflict  it  on  my  children,  or  to  bring 
My  father's  head  in  sorrow  to  the  grave  ?  — 

[  Gloomily. 

No,  —  this  misfortune  is  irreparable. 
But  God  or  Destiny  arranged  it  thus. 
I  am  not  master  of  her  fate  or  mine  ; 
I  do  but  take  what 's  sent  me.     If  I  bear 
And  keep  my  reason,  't  is  the  most  I  can.  — 
Good  morning,  Sir. 

HERMANN. 

I  understand  you  now: 
You  have  not  courage  to  be  true  to  her, 
Nor  generosity  to  give  her  up.  — 

[Aside. 
And  yet  he  cannot 


Phrase  it  as  you  will. 

Doctor,  I  do  not  want  to  quarrel  with  you; 
But,  if  we  are  to  keep  on  friendly  terms, 
This  must  end  here.     'T  has  gone  too  far  already. 


Sir,  I  have  done.     I  have  fulfilled  my  duty 
In  seeking  you.     Now  I  shall  go  to  those 


APPEAL.  79 

Who  have  the  power,  and  I  doubt  not  the  will, 
To  adjust  this  matter  righteously  and  kindly. 
She  who  so  long  took  Helen  for  her  child 
Must  still  have  something  of  a  mother's  feeling; 
And  the  mild  Agatha  has  not  come  out 
From  the  black  depths  of  bondage,  to  desire 
To  plunge  a  sister  in  the  fell  abyss. 

[Goes. 

HERBERT. 

All  must  be  right  by  this  time.     They  have  trusted 
The  management  of  their  affairs  to  Richard  : 
This  with  the  rest.     I  have  already  spoken; 
But  I  will  put  it  out  of  doubt.  —  Not  mine  ? 
Absurd  !  impossible  !  —  And  others  have 
Over  her  fate  the  right  I  have  no  more  ? 
Even  she  herself  had  never  thought  of  this. 
It  was  to  me  she  pleaded,  not  to  them.  — 
They  must  not  see  her,  though.     Weak,  both  of  them. 
They  would  give  way  before  her  strong  appeal, 
If  pity  won  them  not  before  she  spoke. 
They  shall  not  hear  her.  —  The  old  Doctor's  plans 
Will  pass  for  what  they  are,  a  dotard's  ravings. 

[Goes  out. 


80  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 


APPEAL. 

SCENE   III. 

A  garden.    HERMANN  comes  hastily  along  one  of  the  walks  leading 
from  the  house. 


HERMANN,   to 

I  have  more  courage  than  I  thought  I  had. 
I  think  I  stood  my  ground.     I  rather  like  you, 
To-day,  Friend  Hermann ! 

ALICE,  entering. 

Whence  and  whither,  Doctor  ? 

HERMANN,  aside. 
That  selfish,  frivolous  girl !  what  sent  her  here  ?  — 

[Aloud. 
I  have  grave  business,  Miss.    I  ask  your  pardon. 

[Attempts  to  pass. 


I  have  grave  business. 

HERMANN. 

And  with  me? 

ALICE. 

With  you. 


APPEAL.  81 


HERMANN. 

I  were  most  flattered  at  another  hour  ; 
But  now  time  presses.     I  may  be  too  late. 


You  are  too  late. 

HERMAN! 

For  what? 


For  what  you  purpose. 


HERMANN. 

You  cannot  know.     Excuse  me. 

[Tries  to  pass. 


I  do  know. 

You  wish  to  rescue  Helen.     But  the  way 
Is  not  the  way  you  think  of.     I  must  show  you. 

HERMANN. 

You? 

ALICE. 

You  look  doubtfully.     You  do  not  trust  me. 
You  must.     Look  straight  at  me.     You  do  not  see 
A  serious  purpose  in  my  face  ? 

HERMANN,    OSlde. 

Her  air, 

Her  look  is  altered. 
F 


82  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

ALICE. 

I  am  frivolous 

And  vain  and  selfish.     All  you  think  of  me 
I  '11  tell  you  of  myself.     At  least  I  am 
No  hypocrite,  —  if  that  be  any  merit, 
When  openness  is  only  self-content 
And  carelessness  of  blame.     I  'm  frankly  selfish. 
But  when  I  love,  I  love.    I  do  love  Helen. 


It  sounds  like  truth. 

ALICE. 

It  is  truth.     You  must  trust  me. 
We  must  be  friends,  —  and  more,  must  be  allies. 
You  seek  her  who  was  once  our  Helen's  mother. 
It  is  in  vain.     She  has  bestowed  full  powers 
On  Richard  Stanley.     He  will  act  for  her 
And  the  poor  girl  that  he  must  own  his  niece. 

HERMANN. 

And  her  whom  he  was  proud  to  call  so  once ! 
He  cannot  hate  her  ! 

ALICE. 

He  will  show  his  kindness 
By  giving  her  to  Herbert's  charge.     Already 
This  is  decided.     I  am  well-informed. 


What  way  is  there 


APPEAL.  83 

ALICE. 

There  is  but  one  way,  —  flight. 

HEKMANN. 

A  desperate  method! 

ALICE. 

Not  so  desperate 
For  who  have  friends  and  money.     She  has  both. 

HERMANN. 

She  has  still  friends  left? 

ALICE. 

I  foresaw  all  this 

From  the  beginning,  and  reserved  myself. 
I  have  not  been  to  Helen,  —  have  not  asked 
After  her  fate,  —  have  shown  no  interest 
In  any  way.     This  seemed  quite  natural 
For  one  so  careless  and  so  cold  as  I  am. 
But  I  have  not  been  idle.     I  have  written 
To  one  who  '11  not  be  slothful  in  this  cause. 
Do  you  your  part !     The  answer  that  I  wait  for 
Will  be  addressed  to  you.  —  Some  accident 
Might  throw  my  letters  into  Herbert's  hands.  — 
When  you  receive  it,  come  to  me  at  once. 
It  will  trace  out  to  us  our  course. 


And  this 
My  unknown  correspondent  is 


84  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

ALICE. 


James  Leslie. 


HERMANN. 

Your  cousin's  former  tutor?    A  good  man, 
And  worthy  to  be  trusted. 


He  is  more  : 

A  generous,  noble  man.    And  in  this  case 
He  will  have  zeal  greater  than  even  compassion 
Would  wake  in  him,  —  though  that  would  be  enough 
To  lead  him  to  face  danger  and  reproach. 

HERMANN,  aside. 

She  can  admire  devotion.     She  is  better 

Than  I  supposed.     I  think  that  I  may  trust  her. — 

[Aloud. 

There  will  be  danger  for  this  man? 


Of  course. 
There  will  be  danger  for  us  all.     You  shrink  ? 

HERMANN. 

You  wrong  me.     But  I  ask  myself,  Have  we 
A  right  to  involve  a  stranger  in  our  troubles  ? 
Would  Helen  herself  permit  it,  did  she  know  it  ? 

ALICE. 

No  doubt,  not.     But  she  will  not  know  it.     We 


APPEAL.  85 

Must  act  for  her,  the  prisoner  and  helpless. 
We  must  dare  all,  —  must  give  all. 

HERMANN. 

All  our  own, — 

But  must  not  do  injustice.     We  love  Helen ; 
We  have  a  right  to  suffer  for  her.     He 

ALICE,  with  emphasis. 
Has  the  same  right  as  we. 

HERMANN,  musiiiffly. 

And  he  loved  Helen? 

ALICE. 

Loved  her,  and  loves.     Such  hearts  as  his  change  not. 

HERMANN. 

Did  Helen  know  it  ? 

ALICE. 

No  !  —  I  had  my  reasons 
For  being  clear-sighted.  —  No  ! 

HERMANN. 

Can  you  intrust  her 


ALICE. 

As  to  a  brother.     Not  the  selfish  love 
Of  common  men  is  that  he  feels  for  her. 


86  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

He  knows  himself  as  much  divided  from  her 
As  ever,  now.     He  loves  without  a  hope, 
Without  a  wish  that  he  may  find  return,  — 
Since  that  return  even  must  unshrine  his  idol. 
He  loves  as  —  I  love  him.     There,  take  my  secret ! 
Now  trust  me !     I  can  risk  for  her  what  most 
I  prize  on  earth ! 


I  trusted  you  already. 

ALICE,  in  her  ordinary  tone. 

That 's  settled,  then.     Now  to  our  separate  work. 
"We  must  be  ready,  when  the  letter  comes, 
To  act  at  once.     I  have  the  money  here: 
That  is  the  first  thing.     A  disguise  is  ready : 
That  is  the  second.     You  prepare  yourself 
For  a  long  journey.     You  may  not  be  wanted ; 
But  get  all  ready.     Not  too  secretly. 
You  're  not  to  go  with  her.     She  will  be  safer 
Without  your  escort.     But  it  may  be  useful 
To  lead  the  searchers  off"  on  a  false  scent. 

HERMANN. 

But  how  shall  Helen,  prisoner  as  she  is, 
Learn  what  we  plan  for  her? 

ALICE. 

I  've  cared  for  that. 
I  have  my  messengers,  discreet  and  faithful. 


APPEAL.  87 

HERMANN. 

You  think  she  will  accept  the  part  we  give  her  ? 

ALICE. 

At  once. 

HERMANN. 

And  yet  it  is  a  fearful  thing 
For  a  young  woman  to  go  forth  alone 

ALICE,  bitterly. 

It  is  a  fearful  thing  to  be  alone 
On  this  harsh  earth ;  and  she  must  be  alone, 
Where'er  she  make  her  wandering  or  resting, 
From  this  time  forth :   alone  but  for  her  child, 
The  unconscious  sharer  of  her  isolation. 

HERMANN. 

You  will  be  left  to  her. 

ALICE. 

Not  even  I. 
One  short  embrace  and  we  have  lost  each  other. 

HERMANN. 

Why  should  this  be  ?     Are  you  not  rich  and  free  ? 

ALICB. 

Free  ?     Is  a  woman  ever  so  ?    Yes,  free 
To  waste  away  her  life  in  selfish  folly  ! 
But  let  her  have  a  generous  hope,  an  aim 


88  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

Beyond  the  multitude,  her  prison-walls 

Close  round  her  pitiless.     The  captured  bird, 

Springing  from  crushingly  caressing  hands, 

Seeks  the  blue  height  through  the  deceitful  pane ;  — 

He  is  our  emblem ;  —  ruthless  beats  him  back 

The  cold,  transparent,  adamantine  wall. 

HERMANN. 

None  are  quite  free  but  one  alone  as  I  am. 


I  am  an  orphan.     None  have  rights  o'er  me. 
Were  I  a  man  now,  one  year  more  would  give  me 
The  power  to  follow  her,  the  power  to  aid : 
Nay,  I  might  take  it  now,  and  none  could  hinder. 
I  have  an  ample  fortune.     My  own  money 
Is  not  my  own,  and  will  not  be,  or  only 
To  endow  a  husband,  —  never  to  enjoy  it. 
For  trifling  alms,  for  trinkets,  silks,  and  laces, 
I  can  have  money ;  but  for  some  good  object 
That  I  could  put  my  soul  in,  never,  never ! 
Only  by  false  pretences,  yes,  by  lying, 
I  've  gained  the  means  of  rescuing  my  friend ; 
And  so  on,  to  the  end.     Think  you  my  husband, 
The  husband  they  will  choose  for  me,  will  let  me 
Own  my  best  friend  in  a  poor  wandering  outcast? 
You  only,  dear  old  man,  are  left  to  her. 
And  you  are  poor.     Your  poverty  divides  you 
From  her,  as  me  my  riches.     Yet  through  you 
I  may,  perhaps,  find  means  to  send  her  aid. 
Heaven  grants  me  this  resource. 


APPEAL.  89 

HERMANN. 


No,  not  through  me, 
If  gained  by  art,  a  woman's  means ! 


A  man's, 

When  he  has  savage  foes  to  deal  with,  senseless 
To  reason,  to  compassion,  and  to  right ! 
Bid  me  appeal  to  justice,  to  compassion ; 
Let  me  address  the  reason  ;  and  what  then  ? 
I  've  put  them  on  their  guard,  and  lost  the  power 
To  serve  my  friend.     She  starves  upon  my  candor 
Who  might  have  lived  upon  a  generous  falsehood. 
A  woman's  means  indeed !     A  human  means, 
Opposed  to  brutal !     Is  it  in  our  choice  ? 
Think  you  /  choose  it  ?     I  am  frank  and  bold, 
Yet  can  wind,  if  I  must     But  what  sane  man 
Is  bold  where  boldness  would  be  desperation  ? 
Does  the  most  brave,  most  proud,  disdain  to  cheat 
His  overpowerful  enemy,  the  lion  ? 
No ;  where  superiority  of  strength 
Is  on  one  side,  that  of  intelligence 
Upon  the  other,  each  will  use  his  weapon. 

HERMANN. 

Most  dangerous  sophistry  ! 


Well,  read  your  lessons 
To  generals  of  armies  and  to  hunters  I 
Or  keep  them  for  our  lawyers  and  our  statesmen ! 


90  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

Or  give  them  to  the  world  in  general! 
I  do  but  speak  out  what  the  others  practise. — 
But  to  our  business.     This  can  wait.     You  will  not 
Aid  by  a  ruse  the  chance  of  her  escape  ? 


I  do  not  say  that.     I  see  no  objection. 
A  ruse-de-guerre,  a  lawful  stratagem. 
Yes,  I  will  undertake  it,  if  it  's  found 
Expedient,  when  the  moment  comes.     I  am 
At  war  now  with  this  Herbert. 


For  this  time, 

Then,  we  can  work  together.     In  the  future, 
If  you  continue  in  a  state  of  warfare, 
You  will,  perhaps,  find  it  in  rule  to  have 
A  correspondent  in  the  hostile  camp  ? 

HERMANN. 

I  see  your  drift ;  but  there  's  a  difference. 

ALICE. 

Great !    You  're  a  man,  and  I  'm  a  woman :  all 's  said. 
You  are  a  law  unto  yourself,  and  I 
Must  live  by  other  people's  consciences. 

HERMANN. 

But  what  is  this  that  you  are  saying  now 
About  continuing  in  the  hostile  camp  ? 


APPEAL.  91 

What  is  this  husband  chosen  by  your  friends? 
Did  you  not  even  now  confide  to  me 
A  choice  already  made,  and  by  yourself? 


My  heart  and  my  imagination  chose 

An  object  for  their  worship.     Still  and  hidden 

The  little  shrine  will  stand  within  my  heart, 

A  sanctuary  for  my  hunted  soul 

When  strifes  and  follies  leave  no  other  rest. 

I  do  not  think  to  make  this  fane  a  kitchen, 

And  use  the  holy  fire  to  boil  and  bake. 

HERMANN. 

To  use  the  holy  fire  to  warm  and  cheer 

A  human  heart  is  not  a  desecration. 

What  after  God  is  most  divine  is  man. 

That  faculty  which  is  the  evidence 

Of  things  unseen  has  not  been  given  us 

For  solitary,  seldom  flights  to  heaven, 

But  to  inform  and  elevate  our  lives. 

Be  truer  to  yourself.     Guard  not  a  shrine 

For  secret  worship.     So  dispose  your  life 

That  what  is  purest,  noblest  in  your  heart 

May  rise  to  heaven  from  the  household  altar. 


Almost  you  move  me.     But  I  know  myself 

Too  well  to  let  myself  be  borne  away 

Quite  by  your  eloquence.     I  thank  you  warmly. 


92  TRAGEDY  OF   SUCCESS. 

But  I  am  of  this  earth.     These  rare  ascensions 

That  you  condemn  are  all  the  intercourse 

I  hold  with  higher  spheres.     Permit  me  these, 

Nor  let  me  grovel  wholly.     For  the  rest, 

He  whom  I  chose  has  chosen  for  his  ideal, 

The  shrouded  idol  of  his  inmost  heart, 

Another  object.     Were  it  otherwise, 

I  hardly  would  expose  his  love  and  mine 

To  the  rude  wear  and  tear  of  daily  life. 

I  know  I  am  no  worthy  wife  for  him. 

I  'm  capable  of  sudden  acts  of  virtue ; 

But  of  consistent,  patient  goodness,  no. 


You  wrong  yourself,  and  you  will  wrong  another, 

If,  having  this  affection  in  your  heart, 

You  falsely  promise  love  and  faith  elsewhere. 


I  am  no  hypocrite.     The  man  I  marry 
Will  live  in  no  illusions  more  than  I. 
Plain  common  sense  will  regulate  our  contract 
Our  fortunes  are  harmonious.     That 's  enough 
To  satisfy  my  friends  and  him.     For  me, 
I  have  position,  wealth,  and  —  Leslie's  fame. 

HERMANN. 

Why  marry,  though? 

ALICE. 

Because  what  little  share 


APPEAL.  93 

Of  independence  ever  is  a  woman's 

Is  gained  by  marriage.     I  must  wait  ten  years 

To  have  the  smallest  share  of  freedom  single. 

Don't  talk  of  me :  I  do  not  merit  it : 

Only  through  Helen  can  I  interest  you. 

HERMANN. 

No,  —  for  yourself  now.     Hold  me  for  your  friend. 
And  grant  me  a  friend's  right  to  counsel  you. 
Do  nothing  rashly.     You,  are  young  enough 
To  take  your  time. 

ALICE. 

At  least  there  is  no  danger 
The  present  moment.     I  am  full  of  Helen, 
And  have  no  room  for  me.  —  Each  to  our  part ! 


Farewell,  my  new-found  pupil  ! 


Farewell,  friend ! 

Friend  of  an  hour,  but  for  a  life,  I  hope ! 
Whatever  I  am,  whatever  I  do,  my  friend  ? 
You  must  be  pledged  to  this,  if  pledged  to  me. 
I  am  too  wild,  too  faulty,  to  dare  trust 
To  my  deserts  to  keep  my  friends,  —  too  constant 
To  risk  the  pain  of  losing  an  affection 
Once  mine.     Then  those  who  love  must  love  me  only 
Because  they  will,  and  because  I  will  have  them. 
And  now  are  we  two  friends  ? 


94  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

HERMANN. 

On  any  terms. 

The  faults  of  youth  are  all  too  pardonable 
In  the  eyes  of  age ;  its  confidence  too  charming ; 
The  right  to  offer  even  neglected  counsel 
Too  dear. 

[He  extends  his  hand;  she  gives  Tiers. 

Your  friend,  poor  orphan  girl,  through  all ! 
[  They  part,  and  go  out  in  different  directions. 


APPEAL.  95 


APPEAL. 

SCENE  IV. 

Room,  of  which  the  windows  open  on  a  long  portico  shaded  with  vines. 
EMMA  seated  on  a  sofa ;  near  her  AGATHA  (formerly  PEKDITA) 
stands  in  a  timid  attitude. 


Come  sit  by  me,  my  pretty  Agatha, 
My  little  sister,  —  no,  I  mean  my  daughter. 
At  last  I  have  a  daughter  !     Oh,  my  child, 
Why  did  I  never  see  how  sweet  you  were  ? 

[  Talcing  Agatha's  hand  and  drawing  her  towards  herself.    Agatha 
seats  herself  on  a  footstool  close  to  Emma. 

How  were  you  hidden  by  that  ugly  dress  ! 
Could  a  dress  hide  a  daughter  from  her  mother  ? 
But  here  at  last! 

[Embracing  her. 

What  pretty,  silk-soft  hair  ! 
How  like  to  hers !     You  have  her  eyes  exactly, 
Only  more  soft,  —  perhaps  not  quite  so  bright. 
How  should  they  be  ?     Oh,  my  poor  injured  child  ! 
Hers  would  have  dimmed  in  such  a  life  as  yours. 

AGATHA. 

Whose,  mistress? 

EMMA,  checking  her. 

Mother  ! 


96  TRAGEDY  OF   SUCCESS. 

AGATHA,  timidly. 

Oh,  I  dare  not,  —  mother ! 
I  have  a  mother !     Oh,  how  great  is  God ! 
I  prayed  to  Him  that  day  that  Dorcas  told  me 
The  hour  would  come.     I  prayed,  "  Oh,  let  it  hasten  ! " 

And  that  same  night  —  oh,  cruel  night  and  dear ! 

Whom  am  I  like  ?     "Whose  eyes  have  I  ?     Whose  hair  ? 

EMMA. 

Hers,  —  my  sweet  sister's,  —  little  Agatha's. 

AGATHA. 

And  I  am  Agatha.     There  is  another  ? 

EMMA. 

Not  now,  my  treasure,  —  but  there  was  another. 
It  is  for  her  dear  sake  you  bear  that  name. 
And  I  can  talk  to  you  of  her,  my  child ! 
You  cannot  tell  what  grief  it  is  to  hold 
Your  fondest  thoughts  imprisoned  in  your  heart 
And  never  give  them  voice. 


And  you  have  known  it? 
I  thought  this  grief  was  but  for  such  as  I. 


My  innocent  child !     Your  heart  has  pined  like  mine 
For  a  fond  heart  wherein  to  pour  itself. 
Now  we  shall  be  the  world  to  one  another! 
You  shall  tell  all  your  griefs :  I  will  not  tire 


APPEAL.  97 


Of  pitying  you,  nor  you  of  asking  pity. 
And  you  will  like  to  listen,  when  I  talk 
Of  my  young  days  and  of  my  Agatha? 

AGATHA. 

I  like  to  listen  to  your  tender  voice. 


You  have  had  all  the  sorrows  of  your  life 

In  your  first  years ;  I,  all  my  happiness  — 

Except  that  which  you  give  me  now  —  in  mine. 

I  will  divide  my  early  joys  with  you, 

And  you  shall  halve  with  me  your  happy  future. 

So,  I  from  memory,  and  you  from  hope, 

Will  weave  a  life  without  a  cloud  or  shadow. 

AGATHA. 

Oh,  rather  tell  me  of  your  sorrows,  mother ! 
Too  blinding  bright  were  such  a  life  for  me 
To  pass  to  from  my  darkness.     Griefs  like  yours, 
Tender  and  pure,  will  be  to  me  like  joys. 
Oh,  speak  them !  let  me  soothe  them ! 


They  are  soothed. 

Since  I  have  held  the  living  Agatha, 
The  memory  of  the  dead  one  has  grown  fainter. 


I  would  not  wrong  the  dead.     Love  her  and  me ! 
G 


98  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

Your  heart,  like  mine,  can  have  one  love  on  earth 
And  one  in  heaven?  For  she  must  be  in  heaven, 
Your  other  Agatha  ? 

EMMA. 

She  is  in  heaven, 
With  her  dear  mother. 

AGATHA,  drawing  close  to  Emma  and  speaking  low. 

And  with  my  dear  child. 
And  they  will  love  my  child?  will  take  it  to  them? 

EMMA,  shrinking. 

Your  child  ?    Oh,  Agatha,  speak  not  of  that ! 

AGATHA. 

I  must  not  speak  of  it  ?  —  not  even  to  you  ? 

EMMA,  with  anguish,  pressing  Agatha's  head  to  her  bosom,  and  fold 
ing  her  arms  over  it,  as  if  to  conceal  it. 

Oh,  my  poor  ruined  child !  where  shall  I  hide  you  ? 
A  happy  life  for  me  ?     Oh,  cruel  dream !  — 
My  child,  we  have  a  home!  we  have  a  refuge! 
They  call  it  here  the  South.     But,  oh,  dear  daughter, 
There  is  a  South,  and  I  will  bear  you  thither! 

AGATHA,  alarmed. 

Whither  ? 

EMMA. 

Oh,  far  from  here,  —  to  happy  Cuba! 


APPEAL.  99 

AGATHA,  to  herself. 

All  must  come  true ;  and  yet  it  was  not  I 
Whom  the  curse  meant. 

EMMA* 

We  will  leave  all  behind  us, — 
Even  the  memory  of  the  bitter  past. 
In  that  bright  land  we  will  begin  anew. 

AGATHA. 

Oh,  mother,  did  you  ever  wrong  to  Dorcas  ? 


Never,  my  child. 

AGATHA,  timidly  and  hesitating. 

Or  did  —  or  did  —  my  father? 

EMMA. 

Never. 

AGATHA. 

The  curse  was  not  for  me  ! 

EMMA,  anxiously. 

What  curse  ? 

AGATHA. 

The  curse  she  spoke,  thinking  me  Hecate's  child, — 
The  child  of  her  who  once  had  wronged  her  daughter. 
And  yet  it  all  comes  true. 


100  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

EMMA. 

Comes  true? 


She  said 

I  should  go  forth  an  exile,  like  her  daughter ; 
My  child  should  sleep  uncared  for,  like  her  daughter's. 


She  has  no  daughter,  —  never  had  a  daughter. 

What  know  I  of  her  daughter  ?  daughter's  child  ? 

Exile  ?  and  is  it  exile,  then,  to  pass 

From  lone  bereavement  to  a  mother's  love  ? 

Exile,  to  leave  this  poor  monotonous  country 

For  that  rich  land  ?     When  you  have  known  its  sky, 

Its  soft  caressing  air,  its  clustering  flowers, 

Whose  brilliant  hues  thank  the  joy-giving  sun 

That  blessed  them  into  life :  when  you  have  known 


Oh,  mother,  let  me  stay !     That  joyful  sunshine 

Warms  not  his  grave,  those  bright  flowers  deck  it  not ; 

That  soft  air  never  murmured  with  his  tones ; 

That  sky  was  never  mirrored  in  his  eyes ! 

If  I  were  dead,  and  you  were  left  alone, 

Would  you  not  better  love  the  earth  that  held  me, 

Though  it  were  drear  and  rude,  than  summer  lands 

That  had  no  voice  to  speak  to  you  of  me  ? 

And  yet,  oh,  mother !  yet  I  am  not  lovely. 

The  grave  I  fill  will  not  be  holy  ground. 


APPEAL.  101 

But  he  —  he  was  so  dear  and  beautiful ! 
He  went  from  me  in  his  first  innocence ! 
Oh,  let  me  stay! 

EMMA,  Utterly. 

I  have  not  found  my  daughter! 
AGATHA,  penitent, 

Oh,  mother,  yes ! 

EMMA, 

She  is  more  lost  to  me 

Than  when  that  black  disguise  still  hid  her.     Lost ! 
Lost  even  to  her  soul,  my  daughter ! 

AGATHA,  to  herself. 

Lost! 

Lost  and  forever !  even  to  her  soul ! 
Didst  thou  not  know  it,  then,  till  now,  my  mother  ? 
I  have  no  choice.     The  word  must  be  fulfilled. 
Dorcas  has  other  sight  than  common  mortals. — 

[To  Emma. 

Forgive,  sweet  mother,  that,  in  this  first  hour 
Of  hardly  tasted  joy,  I  bring  you  sorrow ! 
Where'er  you  go,  your  child  will  go.     Forgive  !  — - 
And  will  she  go  with  us,  your  other  daughter? 

EMMA* 

My  other  daughter  ? 

AGATHA. 

She  who  was  your  daughter. 


102  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

EMMA. 

She  goes  not  with  us. 

AGATHA. 

Nor  her  child? 

EMMA. 

Nor  he. 

AGATHA. 

But  is  she  not  —  but  is  she  not  my  sister? 

EMMA. 

Your  sister  ?     No !    Oh,  do  not  break  my  heart  ! 

AGATHA. 

Did  you  not  love  her  once? 

EMMA. 

I  loved  her  then 

When  I  believed  she  was  my  child.     But  now, 
Now  that  I  know  that  all  the  love  she  won 
Was  stolen  from  my  poor  deserted  darling, 
How  can  I  love  her  ?     Speak  of  her  no  more  ! 


AGATHA, 

Oh,  mother  dear,  till  you  were  given  back, 
The  only  one  that  ever  showed  me  kindness ! 

EMMA. 

Oh,  call  not  up  that  sweet,  deceitful  image  ! 
How  was  I  mocked,  how  was  I  doubly  mocked, 


APPEAL.  103 

When  in  my  arms  I  held  that  living  lie  ! 
Oh,  let  the  past  pass  from  me  utterly ! 

AGATHA. 

Only  one  little  -word !     Where  is  she  now  ? 

BMMA. 

Her  fate  is  in  the  hands  of  one  who  loves  her. 
Her  husband  —  he  who  was  her  husband  —  asked 
Me  to  renounce  my  claims.     I  gladly  yielded. 
I  would  not  have  her  future  weigh  on  me. 
Let  her  be  happy,  and  let  me  forget  her ! 

AGATHA. 

You  had  a  sister  once.     Why  might  she  not 
Love  me,  as  you  your  little  Agatha  ? 

EMMA. 

What  need  have  you  of  any  love  but  mine  ? 

AGATHA. 

And  both  together  could  not  we  love  you 
As  you  and  Agatha  your  tender  mother? 

EMMA. 

Your  love  contents  me,  —  if,  indeed,  I  have  it, 
And  if  mine  but  suffice  my  child. 

AGATHA. 

Suffice ! 
Your  love !  the  love  I  hardly  dare  look  up  to, 


104  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

It  is  so  high  above  and  I  so  humble! 

Oh,  mother,  do  not  hurt  me  with  such  words ! 

You  speak  in  sport  ?     Oh,  do  not  jest  with  me ! 

I  am  too  dull  to  comprehend  a  jest, — 

Too  slow  to  answer  fittingly.     Speak  plain, 

And  chide  me  openly,  if  you  would  chide, 

Lest  I  but  feel  the  pain  and  miss  the  meaning. 

EMMA. 

I  cannot  chide,  —  I  am  too  weak  to  chide. 

And  even  for  that,  my  child,  you  must  not  wound  me. 

Your  mother  is  too  feeble  for  resentment. 

You  must  deal  tenderly  with  her. 


Forgive ! 

I  will  go  with  you  where  you  will;  will  speak, 
Be  silent,  as  you  will ;  will  love  but  you ; 
Will  let  no  other  love  me.     But  this  once, 
Oh,  let  me  speak  one  word  that  might  displease  you ! 

EMMA. 

That  might  displease  me?     Do  not  speak  it! 


Mother ! 

That  name  of  mother  is  so  dear  and  sacred, 
That  it  has  power,  even  when  falsely  borne, 
To  cast  a  spell  on  me  I  cannot  break. 
Tell  me  of  her  who  has  been  called  my  mother. 


APPEAL.  105 

EMMA. 

Oh,  ask  me  not  to  speak  that  dreadful  name ! 

AGATHA. 

But  tell  me  where  she  is  ?     She  does  not  suffer  ? 

EMMA. 

Suffer!     How  should  she  not,  if  God  is  just? 

AGATHA. 

And  you  will  leave  her  to  His  justice  ?    Man's 
Revenge  shall  not  pursue  her? 

EMMA. 

Have  I  room 

For  thought  of  her  ?     With  what  this  week  has  taken, 
What  it  has  given,  have  I  not  enough  ?  — 
She  is  unharmed.     Doubtless,  in  some  dark  corner 
She  hides  her  guilty,  shame-bowed  head.  —  Till  now 
The  dead  and  the  restored  have  filled  my  heart. 

AGATHA. 

In  both  their  names  I  ask  forgiveness  for  her. 

EMMA,  gaspingly. 

In  yours  alone! 

AGATHA,  eagerly. 

Then  you  will  not  deny  me  I 


106  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

EMMA. 

My  heart  holds  no  revenge.     If  crimes  like  hers 
Admit  of  pardon 

AGATHA. 

It  was  for  her  daughter ! 

EMMA. 

I  have  forgiven  the  dead.     I  will  forgive  her. 

AGATHA. 

You  will  protect  her  from  the  wrath  of  others? 

EMMA. 

I  will  take  order,  that,  when  I  am  gone, 
No  harm  shall  reach  her. 

AGATHA,  rising  and  taking  her  mother's  hand. 

Let  us  forth,  my  mother! 

EMMA,  rising  with  animation. 

Forth  to  my  Cuban  home! 

AGATHA,  to  herself. 

My  Cuban  grave ! 
[  They  go  out. 


TRAGEDY    OF    SUCCESS. 


FLIGHT. 


TEAGEDY     OF    SUCCESS. 


FLIGHT. 

SCENE   I. 

Night.  The  margin  of  a  /ores*.  HECATE,  wrapt  in  a  dark  cloak, 
her  hair  dishevelled,  stands  bending  forward,  as  if  in  the  act  of  lis~ 
tening. 


I  dare  not  follow !     My  ill-boding  step 

"Would  guide  misfortune  to  her  track !  —  I  dare  not ! 

She  is  already  far.     Could  my  strong  arm 
Uphold  her  tender  frame!     Could  my  firm  voice 
Speak  courage,  when  the  loneliness  and  darkness 
Press  on  her  soul !     Why  am  I  not  with  her  ? 
There  is  no  other  place  for  me  on  earth  ! 

Alone !  alone !  her  hesitating  step 

Shrinks  before  fancied  dangers,  seeks  the  real ! 

Were  I  but  there !     How  quick  my  sharpened  eye 

To  seize  the  tokens  on  our  winding  route ! 

How  prompt  my  ear  to  catch  the  sound  of  danger ! 

Oh,  stay  thy  step !    T  is  not  a  harmless  branch 


110  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

Thy  heedless  foot  would  press !     Oh,  were  I  there 
To  snatch  the  deadly  reptile  from  thy  path! 

Cool  not  thy  thirst  on  that  deceitful  fruit! 
It  is  thy  foes'  ally :  it  cheats  to  sleep 
That  will  deliver  thee  to  death  or  them ! 

Hast  thou  forgot  the  landmarks  ?     Yonder,  see  ! 
Is  the  black  stump  whose  sole  remaining  arm 
Points  downward  to  the  narrow  turfy  ridge, 
The  way  of  safety  through  the  quaking  bog! 

Further,  the  treacherous  flood !  how  flat  and  still 
It  stretches  out  its  tideless,  waveless  sea! 
The  giant  growth  that  lifts  from  those  dead  waters 
Its  black  luxuriance  shrouds  with  moveless  shade 
Their  slimy  depths,  accomplice  of  their  guile  ! 
About  the  margin  of  that  stagnant  ocean 
Are  set  decoying  vines,  whose  lusty  stems 
And  wiry  tendrils,  hid  in  rank-grown  leaves, 
Far  o'er  the  surface  spread  a  tremulous  bridge. 
Her  ignorant  foot  essays  it!     Hold  thee  back! 
Oh,  the  next  step  is  death ! 

Fly!  fly!  heed  not 

Whether  thy  pathway  lie  through  fen  or  flood  ! 
Fly,  fly,  poor  loiterer !     Hear'st  thou  not  the  tread, 
Stealthy  and  swift,  that  follows  on  thy  track  ? 
It  gains  upon  thee !     Fly !  the  clutching  hands 
Are  stretched  to  seize  !  almost  they  touch  thee  now ! 
Lost!  lost! 


FLIGHT.  Ill 

[She  covers  her  face  with  her  hands  and  shrinks  down.     Then, 
withdrawing  her  hands  and  rising  slowly. 

For  all  these  years  I  have  not  prayed ! 
Can  I  dare  now  ?     The  punishment  has  fallen ! 
I  am  no  more  triumphant  in  my  fraud ! 
May  I  not  now  ask  Heaven's  blessing  on  her, 
On  her  the  friendless,  shelterless  ?     The  wretched, 
Are  they  not  Heaven's  charge  ?  —  Oh,  by  that  title 
Even  I  might  lift  these  miserable  hands 
And  call  for  mercy !  —  Not  for  me !     Too  late  ! 
But,  if  I  did  not  fear  to  bring  down  wrath 
Instead  of  promise,  from  these  guilty  lips 
Should  rise  a  prayer  for  her  the  innocent. 
Oh,  child,  thou  pay'st  the  forfeit  of  my  crime !  — 
Was  it  a  crime  ?     Oh,  who  could  look  on  her 
And  say  that  there  she  stood  not  in  her  place  ? 
It  was  her  right !     I  will  not  ask  for  pardon ! 

Oh,  in  a  heart  that  was  not  framed  for  guilt 
How  cruel  are  these  struggles !     Wrong  endured 
And  wrong  committed  claiming  to  be  heard, 
And  each  asserting  mastery  in  its  turn  ! 

Oh,  I  am  helpless  !     If  I  look  not  there, 
What  succor  anywhere  ? 

[Raising  her  eyes  and  hands  to  heaven. 

Oh,  guard  Thy  child! 
She  is  not  mine !     This  desecrated  heart 
Resigns  a  mother's  claim  !     Dissolve  the  ties 


112  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

That  bind  Thy  seraph  to  a  fallen  spirit! 
Her  part  is  with  Thy  own ! 

It  needs  a  victim 

To  expiate  the  heaped-up  wrong  ?     Behold  one  ! 
O  God,  I  offer  up  my  soul  to  torture ! 
Count  nothing  all  my  ruined  years !  count  nothing 
This  mortal  heartbreak !     For  each  hour  of  life, 
Of  happy  life,  that  Thou  accord'st  to  her, 
Give  me  a  century  of  fiery  pain  ! 


FLIGHT.  113 


FLIGHT. 

SCENE  n. 

Morning  twilight.  A  cleared  space  in  the  forest.  Paths  opening  from 
it  on  the  right  and  left.  THERESA  enters  from  the  right.  She  looks 
anxiously  about  her. 

THERESA. 

He  is  not  here.     Oh,  let  not  morning  find  me 
Ere  I  find  him  !     He  said,  "  Before  the  sun."  — 
Night  draws  around  her,  as  she  glides  away,. 
Her  wide  gray  mantle,  leaving  me  all  bare.  — 
Fail  me  not,  thou  !     Oh,  think,  that,  till  we  come, 
She  crouches  comfortless  or  wanders  guideless ! 
Come,   then,   our    friend    strong-couraged    and    strong- 
armed  !  — 

"  Before  the  sun,  beside  the  tree  of  trust" 
Here  is  the  smitten  pine:  it  should  have  fallen, 
But  the  green  shoulders  of  its  mates  sustain. 
Thou  witherest,  tree !  they  prop,  but  cannot  quicken. 
Oh,  art  thou  there  to  tell  my  heart  how  vain 
Is  loving  aid  when  Heaven's  bolt  hath  stricken  ?  — 

[She  listens. 
A  step !  but  not  the  sturdy  one  I  wait  for. 

[She  conceals  herself  behind  some  trees.    Enter  MELAS,  carrying 
a  basket  in  his  hand. 


114  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

MELAS. 

She  is  not  far.     The  way  of  fugitives 
Is  her  way  now.     The  world  they  leave  is  bitter, 
But  is  their  own.     With  many  a  backward  turning 
And  many  a  pause,  she  seeks  the  foreign  safety. 
Strange  ground  is  slow  to  tread,  strange  ah-  breathes 

hard. 

Thy  will  is  feeble  now  as  ours,  poor  lady  ! 
Thou  art  more  ignorant  than  one  of  us 
Of  all  thou  need'st  to  know  !  —  The  child !     It  loves  me. 
It  faints  for  want  of  food ! 

I  hear  a  rustling ! 

Does  she  lurk  near?     Does  her  ear  strain  to  catch 
A  friendly  sound? 

[Listens. 

Again  !    Push  forward,  Melas ! 
If  you  can  aid,  it  must  be  ere  the  light, 
That  now  is  stealing  onward  like  a  spy, 
Bursts  on  us  with  the  broad,  triumphant  glare 
Of  the  denouncer. 
[He  discovers  Theresa. 

What !  you  here,  Theresa  ? 

THERESA,  in  an  agitated  manner. 
Go  home,  good  Melas !  it  is  time ;  you  're  wanted. 


No,  it  is  early.     It  is  here  so  fresh ! 

And  nothing  's  regular.     I  'd  not  be  missed, 

If  I  should  stay  too  long.     But  I  shall  not. 


FLIGHT.  115 

THKEESA,  aside. 

"What  brings  him  here  ?     It  is  the  hour  already ! 
He  is  no  spy.     What  if  I  have  to  trust  him?  — 

[Aloud. 
Oh,  Melas,  go!     You  have  no  purpose  here. 

MELA3. 

It  is  free  time ;  this  is  the  freest  place ; 
Why  not  come  here  to  spend  it? 

THERESA,  impatiently. 

Melas,  go ! 

MELAS,  aside. 

She  has  a  purpose,  and  she  hardly  hides  it. 
What  if  her  purpose  were  akin  to  mine  ? 
She  is  not  wicked ;  she  is  only  mad. 
If  I  should  try  her  ?     Yes,  I  will.  —  Theresa  ! 

[  Theresa  listens  with  an  alarmed  expression. 
This  forest  stretches  far.     You  know  its  haunts 
Hold  dens  and  nests  for  things  that  creep  and  fly. 
This  is  the  hour  when  man  is  least  abroad 
And  all  that  shuns  his  presence  wakes  and  stirs* 
See  by  that  trunk  the  peeping  reptile-head ! 
And  that  shy  bird !     I  watch  for  such  rare  game. 


You  would  not  be  more  savage  than  the  wild, 
More  black  than  night,  to  rob  of  this  drear  safety 
What  has  no  portion  in  free  air  and  sunlight? 


116  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

MELAS,  aside. 
She  has  grown  human  from  the  stone  she  was  !  - 

[Aloud. 

Listen,  Theresa !     There  are  stealthier  things 
Beneath  the  thicket,  more  averse  to  man. 
If  such  come  forth  in  search  of  food  or  comfort, 
They  meet  no  traitor  eye  ? 

THERESA,  smiting  mournfully. 

In  meeting  mine  ? 

MELAS. 

Theresa,  will  you  sing  a  hymn  of  signal  ? 


Take  voice,  O  Music,  that  this  dreaming  heart 
Has  toned  so  long  in  silence :  soundless  signal 
Feigned  for  a  senseless  ear !     To  reach  the  living 
Take  voice,  no  longer  listless  of  an  answer ! 

THERESA,  sings. 

A  shelter,  men,  a  shelter  !     Oh,  give  him  where  to  hide ! 
Give  him  what  to  the  foxes,  the  birds,  is  not  denied  ! 

MELAS,  sings. 

Give  him  where  to  lay  his  head,  the  unprotected  ! 


O  Christ !  O  King  of  Glory !  thus  homeless  didst  Thou  go ! 
Thou  wast  not  too  high  for  sorrow,  as  we  are  not  too 
low! 


FLIGHT.  117 

MELAS. 

Earth  had  no  heritage  for  Heaven's  Elected! 


But  Thou  wast  born  of  woman  !     Didst  Thou  bear  Thy 

bitter  part, 
And  never  know  the  failing  of  Thy  mother's  feeble  heart? 

MELAS. 

When  haters  hunted,  and  when  trusted  ones  rejected  ! 


Oh,  look   on  those  who  follow  the  path  that  once  was 

Thine, 
Their  earthly  hearts  imploring  as  then  did  the  divine ! 

MELAS. 

Cast  out,  pursued,  as  Thou  wast,  but,  oh,  more    faint, 
more  lonely ! 

THERESA. 

Thou,  faithful  and  reproachless,  couldst  seek  the  Father's 

face ! 
We,  full  of  sin  and  doubting,  have  no  refuge  but  Thy 

grace! 

MELAS. 

We  claim  Thee,  O  Redeemer,  by  our  bonds  and   sor 
rows  only ! 
[  They  stop  suddenly,  and  look  round  in  an  attitude  of  listening. 


118  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

THERESA. 

Listen ! 

MELAS,  looking  into  the  wood. 

Who  comes  ?     No  trembling  fugitive  ! 

THERESA. 

Melas,  it  is  that  fearful  woman,  Dorcas  ! 

MELAS. 

She  comes  in  rage ;  hear  how  the  branches  crack ! 

THERESA. 

If  she  have  heard  us!     If  she  have  divined! 

MELAS. 

She  can  hear  nothing  but  the  snapping  boughs 
And  her  own  muttered  curses.     Hide  yourself, 
If  you  have  reason.     Off,  behind  these  trees ! 
I  have  no  cause  to  fear,  nor  she  to  hurt  me, 

THERESA,  going,  turns  back. 

But,  as  you  go,  lift  up  a  song  of  warning  ; 
Lest  the  friends'  call  should  prove  the  foes'  decoy. 

MELAS,  sings. 

The  hunt  goes  out  at  morning !     On  the  merry  meet 
ing-ground 

Be  ready  bright  and  early,  let  none  be  lagging  found ! 
We  will  stir  up  all  that  the  silent  forest  covers  ! 


FLIGHT.  119 

My  work  is  in  the  furrow  that  the  sober   plough  has 

broke ; 

No  beasts  will  I  follow  but  those  patient  of  the  yoke. 
I  will  leave  at  rest  all  that  the  peaceful  forest  covers. 

You  will  not  hunt  the   hidden?    Are  you  brother  to 

the  bear  ? 

Of  the  cubs  are  you  tender  in  the  old  fox's  lair  ? 
For  are  not  these  all  that  the  dusky  forest  covers  ? 

Whatever  takes  man's  bounty  may  fall  beneath  his  blow ; 
Let  him  fetter  what  he  fodders,  and  let  the  tameless  go. 
And  may  God  care  for  all  that   the   sheltering  forest 
covers ! 

[Melas  disappears  by  one  of  the  side-paths  through  the  wood. 
DORCAS  issues  from  the  wood  near  the  place  where  Melas 
and  Theresa  separated.  She  comes  forward,  and  raises  her 
clenched  hands  above  her  head. 


Gone,  passed  from  me,  and  I  not  dead,  my  vengeance ! 

She  baffled  even  me !  —  O  Father  Satan  ! 

Thou  giv'st  us  only  so  much  knowledge  as 

We  need  to  serve  thee,  and  keep'st  back  the  rest 

To  mock  us  with  when  we  have  done  thy  work ! 

But  I  will  not  be  mocked ! 

I  have  been  mocked  ! 

For  twenty  years  I  've  lived  upon  a  dream ! 
Have  I  not  thought  I  held  her  in  my  power, 


120  TEAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

The  offspring  of  my  enemy  ?     I  trod  her 
Under  my  feet ;  made  her  a  slave  of  slaves. 
She  spied  my  mood,  she  shrank  before  my  frown, 
Soothed  me  with  false  caresses,  taught  her  form 
The  servile  cringe,  her  tongue  the  coward  lie. 
I  have  been  cheated !  while  I  cheered  myself 
Upon  her  misery,  upon  her  debasement, 
There  was  she  throning  it !     Oh,  twenty  years  ! 
For  twenty  years  to  have  been  fooled  with  thus ! 
It  is  a  new  account !  —  But  patience  !  patience  ! 
This  poor  old  brain  is  not  used  up.     And  Fate, 
And  the  Black  Powers,  and  even  Heaven  itself 
Are  here  upon  my  side :  the  fiends  of  vengeance 
The  messengers  of  justice,  armed  for  me ! 
They  tracked  her  out,  the  silent,  sleepless  ones! 
She  was  struck  down! 

But  she  must  fall  still  lower ! 
She  wanders  outcast,  but  she  wanders  free ; 
The  brand  of  bondage  has  not  reached  her  soul. 
But  I  am  here !     O  you  who  work  with  me, 
Give  to  my  hand  the  instrument  it  craves  ! 

[  EZEKIEL  enters  by  a  path  on  the  right.  Dorcas  perceives  him, 
and  stands  awaiting  his  approach.  When  he  comes  near,  she 
extends  her  arm,  as  if  to  arrest  him. 


You  have  been  sent! 

EZEKIEL,  trying  to  pass  on. 

Let  me  perform  my  errand. 


FLIGHT.  121 

DORCAS. 

Your  errand  is  to  me  ! 

EZEKIEL. 

Pass  on,  poor  woman  ! 
I  can  do  nothing  for  you. 

DOKCAS. 

I  ask  nothing. 
I  have  to  give.     I  do  not  beg  of  others. 

EZEKIEL. 

Now  I  bethink  me,  are  you  not  the  woman 
Who  came  here  with  that  fallen  lady's  mother? 

DORCAS. 

I  came  with  Hecate  hither. 


The  same  thought 
Is  now,  perhaps,  in  both  our  hearts. 


Perhaps. 

EZEKIEL. 

She  has  escaped,  —  I  know  it.     She  has  trusted 
Her  secret  to  her  mother's  friend,  —  to  you. 
You  may  confide  in  me.     I  will  not  fail  you. 
Not  for  the  first  time  shall  I  track  the  forest, 
Seeking  the  lair  of  the  spent  fugitive. 


122  TRAGEDY  OF   SUCCESS. 

I  know  each  bower,  each  cave,  each  grassy  ridge, 
Each  turfy  islet  in  the  sea  of  swamp. 

DORCAS,  eagerly. 

You  know  them  all  ?  —  and  you  could  track  her  out, 
Even  were  she  hidden  beyond  the  scent  of  dogs  ? 


I  would  so.     Fear  not.     Trust  me.     Without  guide 

The  fugitive  will  find  the  pathless  forest 

An  enemy  as  pitiless  as  man. 

Time  has  been  lost  already.     Look  at  me  ! 

Am  I  of  those  that  traffic  their  own  blood? 

DORCAS. 

What  blood  is  she  of  yours  ? 

EZEKIEL. 

What !  is  she  not 
Of  our  own  people  ? 

DORCAS. 

Do  you  see  it  on  her  ? 

EZEKIEL. 

Not  on  her  face.     But  in  her  gentle  heart, 
Even  while  she  shared  the  fortune  of  the  haughty, 
Her  kindred  with  the  humble  was  confessed. 
We  know  it  now ;  we  know  that  inborn  pity 
For  all  that  suffers,  —  no  miraculous  gift, 


FLIGHT.  123 

As  once  it  seemed.     She  drew  it  with  the  blood 
That  flowed  to  hers  from  an  afflicted  heart. 
She  is  of  us ;  high-nurtured  as  she  is, 
She  is  of  us ;  we  must  be  prompt  to  succor. 


And  if  she  were  not  ?     What  if  these  fierce  hellhounds 
Hunt  their  own  kind  for  once  ?     What  if  their  fangs 
Are  sharpened  now  for  a  related  breast  ? 
Would  you  mislead  them  ?     Would  you  call  them  off  ? 


I  would  snatch  any  victim  from  the  power 
Of  the  unjust.     This  is  not  now  the  question. 
We  know  that  she  is  one  of  us.     As  such 
Is  she  now  orphan,  homeless,  friendless.     Hasten! 
Give  me  the  clue  !     Before  to-morrow's  dawn 
I  will  have  led  her  to  a  place  of  safety. 


You  ?  you,  Ezekiel  ?     She  is  in  the  forest, 
As  you  suppose.     I  know  it  not  from  her; 
Enough  I  know  it.     You  shall  track  her  out, 
As  you  have  promised. 

EZEKIEL. 

Went  she  out  alone? 

DOKCAS. 

Alone  or  worse :  incumbered  with  her  child. 


124  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

EZEKIEL. 

She  entered  on  which  side? 

DORCAS. 

I  cannot  tell  you. 

EZEKIEL,  going. 
I  will  soon  know. 

DOECAS,  retaining  Mm. 

Not  yet !     Ezekiel,  stay  ! 
[fle  tears  himself  from  her  grasp. 
Fernando,  stay  ! 

EZEKIEL,  with  strong  emotion. 

Who  calls  me  by  that  name  ? 

DOECAS. 

One  who  has  known  you  other  than  you  are,  — 
Not  in  name  only. 

EZEKIEL. 

You  have  known  me  ? 


Yes. 

EZEKIEL. 

And  in  that  time 

DOECAS. 
When  she  you  loved  yet  lived. 


FLIGHT.  125 

EZEKIEL. 

Lived,  and  for  me  !     And  now  she  lives,  but  only 
Not  now  for  me  !  —  And  you  have  known  her,  Dorcas  ? 

DOKCAS,  Tier  face  losing  its  expression  of  bitter  defiance ;  her  shrill  tone 
changed  to  one  deep  and  solemn. 

Yes.     She  is  dead ;  and  thou  shalt  see  her  grave. 
Hast  thou  the  courage  ?     Speak  ! 

EZEKIEL,  with  anguish. 

Her  grave  is  far. 
Oh,  mock  me  not  !     I  shall  not  look  on  it. 


Thou  shalt  and  soon,  hast  thou  indeed  the  courage. 

What  grave  hast  thou  imagined  for  the  gay  one  ? 

A  laughing  grave,  that  the  kind  Cuban  summer 

Tends  with  untiring  piety,  renewing 

Above  it  still  the  ever-varying  tribute 

Of  brilliant  cluster,  tender-twining  wreath  ? 

A  peaceful  grave,  where  the  descending  sunbeams, 

The  waving  leaf,  the  softly  bending  grass, 

In  the  deep  quietness  alone  are  restless  ? 

Hast  thou  imagined  for  the  one  thou  lov'dst 

A  grave  like  this  ?     By  such  a  resting-place 

The  heart  might  lay  its  griefs  down,  its  regrets, 

Its  vengeance  even.     Not  to  such  a  grave 

Shall  I  bring  thee,  Fernando  !     Art  thou  firm 

To  follow  where  I  lead  thee  ? 


126  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

EZEKIEL. 

If  to  her. 


Hear,  then !  —  But  first,  art  thou  indeed  Fernando  ? 
Art  thou  that  wronged  Fernando,  he  who  once 
In  helplessness  appealed  from  man  to  Heaven,  — 
Who,  kneeling  in  the  presence  of  the  sun, 
Gave  God  in  charge  to  execute  his  vengeance  ? 

EZEKIEL. 

I  was  that  impious  man. 


Not  thus  He  judged, 

The  Being  thy  despair  invoked.     The  vengeance 
Thou  askedst  at  His  hand  His  hand  has  wrought : 
The  winds  and  waves  have  ministered  to  thee ; 
The  tyrant's  passions,  as  untamed  as  they, 
Have,  even  as  they,  been  made  thy  instruments; 
The  traitor's  greed  has  worked  thy  will,  not  his; 
All  that  the  heaven  commands  of  most  resistless, 
All  that  the  earth  contains  most  unsubjected, 
Has  bent  itself  to  carry  out  thy  curse  ! 
And  when  at  last  its  force  seemed  spent,  when  one 
Of  its  doomed  victims  baffled  for  a  time 
The  slackened  chase,  ah,  see,  it  steals  on  her, 
Makes  of  her  nearest,  of  herself,  its  tool, 
The  child  and  mother  giving  mutual  ruin ! 


FLIGHT.  127 


EZEKIEL. 

What  wouldst  thou  tell  me,  woman  ? 


Thou  perceiv'st  not? 

Hear  it  again !     This  woman  thou  wouldst  save 
Is  thy  own  victim.     Thou  hast  cast  her  down 
From  her  high  place.     For  thee  she  bears  the  brand 
Of  slave,  of  outcast. 


Wretched  man  !  for  me  ?  — 
The  truth  is  in  thy  words.     I  feel  it,  though 
Their  perfect  sense  escapes  me.     By  what  tie 
Is  her  fate  linked  to  mine  ? 

DORCAS. 

By  that  of  hate. 

When  on  that  day,  her  last  of  happiness, 
Some  strange  attraction  lured  thee  to  her  presence, 
Thee,  who  shunn'st  happiness,  who  shunn'st  the  happy, 
And  thou  stood'st  face  to  face  with  her  a  moment, 
Did  then  the  glance  of  those  joy-lighted  eyes 
Bring  from  the  past  no  eyes  as  dark,  as  bright, 
Though  wrath,  not  pleasure,  kindled  them  for  thee? 
In  the  clear  ring  of  that  imperial  voice 
Did  no  dead  tones  revive  upon  thy  ear  ?  — 

[She  looks  at  him  fixedly,  for  a  few  moments. 

Blinded  as  I  was!     With  my  eyes  I  saw, 

With  my  ears  heard,  with  my  mind's  senses  not. — 


128  TRAGEDY   OF  SUCCESS. 

Blind  as  thou  wast,  unconscious  as  thou  wast, 
That  moment  was  her  fate.     Fernando's  shadow 
Passed  then  between  her  and  the  sun  ! 


My  presence 
Is,  then,  so  blighting? 

DORCAS. 

To  the  race  of  him 
Who  was  thy  blight. 

EZEKIEL. 

And  she  is  of  his  race  ? 

DOBCAS. 

She  is  the  daughter  of  his  child. 

EZEKIEL,  starting. 

Of  hers  ? 

DORCAS. 

Wouldst  thou,  then,  hate  her? 

EZEKIEL. 

I  would  rescue  her. 


No,  no !     The  cherished,  the  triumphant  wife 
Was  mother  to  that  miserable  Hecate 
Who  baffled  me,  —  but  did  not  baffle  Fate  ! 


FLIGHT.  129 


EZEKIEL,  with  amazement. 
How  here,  and  thus? 


Fernando,  through  thy  curse  ! 
The  thunderbolt  of  heaven  reached  thy  foe 
Upon  the  sea.     The  vessel  wrecked  for  him 
Bore  on  its  shattered  fragments  to  the  shore 
A  wretched  few :  among  these  few  a  widow, 
Two  little  children,  and  their  faithful  nurse : 
With  these  a  man  whom  thou  hast  known  :  the  agent, 
For  evil  and  for  good,  of  him  who  perished, 
Until  Fate  made  him  thine,  —  thine  and  Pamela's. 


Oh,  spare  that  name  ! 


Thou  must  endure  to  hear  it. 
Through  Fate  he  was  thy  agent  and  Pamela's. 
Hast  thou  yet  comprehended  me  ? 

EZEKIEL,  covering  his  face. 

Too  well!  — 

[Looking  vp. 

Oh,  life  and  strength  but  to  undo  this  work  ! 

Pamela!  let  me  swear  it  by  thy  grave, 

If  thou  hadst  part  in  this  most  hideous  treason, 

I  will  atone  it!     Thy  repentant  spirit 

Shall  see  the  evil  that  it  wrought  made  good, 

And  pass  to  peace  !  — 


130  TRAGEDY  OF   SUCCESS. 

[To  Dorcat. 

Lead  me,  as  thou  hast  promised, 
Unto  her  grave. 

DOBCAB,  standing  erect  and  throwing  out  her  arms. 

Behold,  thou  stand'st  before  it! 
What  sepulchre  a  crumbling  human  ruin 
May  furnish  to  a  dead  and  damned  soul, 
That  sepulchre  is  Dorcas  to  Pamela! 

[She  stands  silent  a  moment,  while  he  gazes  in  horror. 

Here  offer  up  thy  vows !  here  breathe  forgiveness ! 
Here  receive  peace  and  give  it ! 

[Ezekiel,  recovering  from  his  stupor,  attempts  to  turn  away. 

Turn  not  hence ! 
Thou  wouldst  refuse  belief  that  yet  thou  giv'st ! 

[Ezelciel  remains  with  his  eyes  jixed  on  her,  as  if  unable  to  with 
draw  them. 

Gaze  on!     My  look  has  fascination  yet, — 
Though  now  its  spell  be  not  of  love,  but  horror. 
Look  in  these  eyes,  whose  baleful  gleam  recalls 
The  ghastly  glitter  flickering  round  decay ! 
These  are  the  eyes  that  danced  with  joy  and  love 
Once  at  thy  step.     Behold  these  grisly  fingers, 
That  seem  the  talons  of  a  bird  of  prey ! 
These  are  the  fairy  hands  that  hid  themselves 
In  thy  broad  grasp.     Gaze  I  gaze !  this  face,  this  all, 
This  was  Pamela !  this  was  thy  Pamela ! 

EZEKIEL. 

Oh,  only  not  that  name! 


FLIGHT.  131 

[He  stands  as  if  struggling  with  himself,  then  lifting  his  eyes  and 
hands  to  heaven. 

Thou  wilt  take  from  me 
All,  even  to  memory ! 

[Clasping  his  hands  in  anguish. 

Last  and  sharpest  trial, 
Shall  I  sustain  thee? 


Would  I  were  more  hideous, 
More  loathsome  still,  if  more  were  possible, 
That  I  might  shriek  to  thee  more  maddening, — 
"  This  is  what  he  has  left  thee  of  Pamela  ! " 

EZEKIEL,  solemnly,  looking  upward. 

Send  me  the  strength,  O  God,  that  send'st  the  proof !  — 

[  To  Dorcas,  in  a  low  voice,  frequently  interrupted. 

O  thou  in  whom  I  would  not  see  the  lost, 

Yet  must !     O  thou,  that,  robbed  from  me,  took'st  with 

thee 

My  youth,  my  sunlight,  —  rendered  to  me,  bring'st 
A  second  ruin  deeper  than  the  first ! 
Oh,  in  what  language  shall  I  speak  to  thee? 

[  Compassionately. 

How  can  I  blame  thee  that  thy  slender  bark 

Was  wrecked,  when  even  this  strong  hulk  was  shattered  ? 

Dorcas  !     Pamela  !     We  have  suffered,  both ; 

Both  we  have  sinned.     Let  us  redeem  together 

What  yet  is  to  redeem. 


132  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

DORCAS. 

I  have  not  sinned  : 

I  have  done  justice.     But  revile  me,  wreak 
On  me  the  vengeance  that  thou  lack'st  the  heart 
To  visit  on  its  proper  heirs !     'T  is  well 
I  waited  not  for  thee  !     'T  is  well  this  hand, 
This  brain,  sufficed  to  my  revenge  without  thee ! 
What  is  there  to  redeem  ?     Canst  thou  redeem 
Thy  youth  and  mine,  —  thy  innocent  love  and  mine  ? 


Oh,  by  that  love  which,  withered  on  this  earth, 
May  yet  retake  its  bloom  beyond  the  stars 


Well  didst  thou  say,  —  "Not  even  memory!" 

He  did  not  wrong  thee  half:  thy  foe  took  from  thee 

What  not  eternity  can  give  thee  back. 

I  will  not  lie  to  thee.     Pamela's  life 

Broke  not  like  thine  with  breaking  of  those  ties.  — 

That  lordly  look  !  that  voice  whose  lightest  tones 

Had  more  command  in  them  than  others'  threats ! 

Oh,  he  was  born  that  I  should  call  him  master! 

I  loved  him.     I  forgot  you.  —  Then  she  came. 

I  fell  from  queen  to  nothing.  —  Not  enough ! 

The  memory  of  my  day  must  pass  with  me. 

My  thought  must  die.     No  shadow  from  my  night 

Must  cross  her  sunshine.     And  they  tore  from  me 

All  that  was  left  to  me  of  mine  and  his. 

They  tore  from  me  my  child!     They  left  me  there 

To  live  unloved,  and  live  without  my  child ! 


FLIGHT.  133 

EZEKIEL. 

He  sent  thy  child  from  thee? 

DOKCAS. 

The  act  was  his; 

The  guilt  was  hers.     I  never  hated  him 
For  it,  but  her.  —  Canst  thou  redeem  me  this? 
Canst  thou  redeem  me  this  ?     Canst  thou  give  back 
The  childhood  of  my  daughter,  —  those  sweet  years 
Of  her  young  life  of  which  my  life  was  robbed? 


Oh,  thou  most  wronged,  most  suffering!  believe  not 

Reproach  of  mine  shajl  add  its  bitterness 

To  thy  full  cup!     For  me,  the  last  is  borne. 

Heaven  has  left  for  me  no  greater  trial. 

It  will  soon  call  me  home.     The  little  space 

I  have  to  work  in  would  I  give  to  thee. 

Oh,  might  I  but  atone  for  thee,  with  thee ! 

DOECAS. 

Thou  speak'st  to  stone !     Art  thou  divine,  almighty  ? 
Canst  thou  create  a  heart  in  this  void  breast? 
Work  thy  first  miracle !  the  rest  were  light. 


Let  it  suffice  that  he  who  wronged  thee  fell 
By  Heaven's  judgment.     Let  the  innocent 

DORCAS. 

"  On  him  and  his " :  thus  didst  thou  word  thy  curse. 


134  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

EZEKIEL. 

I  will  revoke  it !     I  will  make  amends ! 


Thou  hast  no  power.     Then,  when  thou  mad'st  appeal 
To  the  Avenger,  when  thou  laid'st  thy  cause 
In  His  untrembling  hands,  thou  left'st  no  room 
For  the  relentings  of  a  faltering  mortal 

EZEKIEL,  going. 

Thou  wilt  not  aid  me  ?     Then,  if  not  with  thee, 
Without  thee,  it  must  be.  —  And  yet  —  once  more 


DORCAS. 

Go,  work  thy  fate  out,  miserable  man! 

Leave  me  to  mine !     But  think  not,  thou  that  thrust'st 

Thy  daring  hand  in  the  eternal  scales, 

That  thou  shalt  make   them   swerve.     The   doomed  is 

doomed. 

Thou  canst  but  scatter  round  thee  wider  ruin, 
And  add  new  victims  to  those  marked  already. 

[He  goes ;  she  follows  him  with  her  voice. 

Thou  that  wouldst  be  more  just  than  God,  beware  ! — 

[Dorcas  follows  the  retreating  figure  of  Ezeldel  with  her  eyes,  and 
sees  him  joined  by  Theresa.  She  watches  them  until  they  dis 
appear  among  the  trees. 

His  errand  was  to  her !     They  plot  together. 
But  I  will  circumvent  them!  — 

[She  sees  BOAZ,  who  enters  from  the  path  on  the  right. 

Boaz,  you ! 


FLIGHT.  135 

The  famous  preacher  has  just  passed  along,  — 
Ezekiel :  you  know  him  ? 

BOAZ. 

Famous  preacher  ! 

DOKCAS. 

They  call  him  so.     He  's  strong,  but  wants  the  doctrine. 
Not  so? 

BOAZ. 

You  have  more  wit  than  many  wiser. 

DOKCAS. 

Ah,  I  can  make  distinctions.     But  what  brings  him 
Here,  think  you,  now? 


No  good. 


Why,  that  is  certain. 

But  what  ?     It  were  worth  something  now  to  bring 
That  knowledge  to  its  market.     Ah,  I  know 
Tour  talents,  Boaz.     The  persuading  tongue 
Is  not  the  sole  or  first.     The  hearing  ear 
Has  done  good  service  to  yourself  and  others. 

BOAZ. 

You  know? 


136  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

DOECA8. 

There  is  not  much  I  do  not  know. 
You  are  a  useful  man,  but  never  yet 
Has  such  occasion  shown  itself  to  you 
For  winning  praise  and  gain.     You  know  that  woman 
Who  lorded  it  so  long  here,  —  Hecate's  daughter  ? 
One  of  ourselves ;  —  and  she  must  rule  it  here ! 
And  she  must  play  the  gracious  !  grant  us  favors, 
Send  us  good  things,  inquire  about  our  ailments ! 
So  condescending !     Oh,  the  insolent  minx  ! 
I  could  go  mad,  were  I  not  mad  already ! 


What  would  you  have  ?     Is  she  not  down  ?     Her  pride 
Has  proved  the  pride  that  goes  before  destruction. 

DOBCAS. 

Her  like  are  never  half-destroyed ;  scotched,  trampled, 
They  struggle  out  again  to  life  and  luck. 

BOAZ. 

I  do  not  hate  her.     She  has  never  harmed  me. 


Nor  ever  helped  you.     In  her  power  and  riches 
What  did  she  do  for  you?     Her  misery 
Can  profit  you  far  more  than  her  abundance. 


Can  profit  me? 


FLIGHT.  137 

DORCAS. 

If  you  yourself  but  will. 
You  know  that  she  has  fled? 

BOAZ. 

Impossible ! 

DORCAS. 

Certain !     Is  that  a  thing  to  be  allowed, 
Think  you?     And  what  reward  will  be  for  him 
"Who-  brings  the  audacious  one  to  penitence  ? 

BOAZ. 

What  reward,  then  ?     Suppose. 

DORCAS. 

The  very  least 

Will  be  to  pass  his  lifetime  without  work. 
And  then  the  presents  and  the  privileges  ! 

BOAZ. 

How  should  one  willing  have  a  chance  at  these? 

DORCAS. 

He  shall  track  out  this  plot.     He  shall  discover 
The  path  she  took  at  first ;  he  shall  betray 
Her  resting-places,  her  disguises. 

BOAZ. 

How 
Shall  I  betray  where  I  have  not  been  trusted  ? 


138  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

DORCAS. 

This  was  not  done  without  accomplices. 

BOAZ. 

All  who  surrounded  her  would  die  for  her. 

DOKCAS,  vrith  meaning. 

All  ?     Are  there  none  who  have  another  duty, 
Another  love,  than  to  their  fallen  mistress  ? 


BOAZ, 

She  knows  even  that  !     She  knows  that  Chloe 


Go! 

Go  to  your  work !     You  need  no  help  from  me. 
You  know  your  trade.     You  're  no  beginner  at  it. 
But  first :  you  saw  those  dark,  escaping  figures  ? 
To  the  discretion  of  the  silent  forest 
They  trust  their  trembling  secret.     They  shall  learn 
That  even  the  trees  turn  traitors,  when  I  will  it. 
Upon  their  track  !     Glide  like  the  noiseless  serpent, 
Wind  like  the  subtle  air,  and  bear  away 
Their  words  as  lightly  and  as  unsuspected. 
When  you  need  counsel,  come  to  me. 


I  go. 

[Boaz  goes. 


FLIGHT.  139 

DORCAS. 

And  that  Theresa!     There  is  in  her  look 

Something  in  league  with  my  possessing  demon. 

When  her  dim,  unregarding  eye  turns  on  me, 

The  storm  begins  to  brew  within.     O  Master, 

Thou  find'st  thy  agents  where  thou  wilt !  A  tree-trunk 

Sending  the  shadow  of  its  blasted  form 

Across  my  path ;  a  dance  of  withered  leaves 

To  the  shrill  autumn  blast ;  a  lonely  crag, 

From  which,  with  roots  uptorn,  a  fair  young  birch 

Hung  slowly  withering:  all  these  have  been 

Thy  messengers  to  me  ere  now.     This  girl, 

Brain-cracked  like  me,  but  not  like  me  possessing 

A  higher  sense  in  payment  of  the  lost,  — 

This  girl,  how  often  has  she,  all  unconscious, 

Brought   me   thy   promptings !     When   my   age-cooled 

blood 

Has  slugged  and  thickened,  and  almost  my  will 
Had  let  itself  be  lulled,  her  wandering  look, 
Or  even  from  afar  her  half-seen  form, 
Has  sent  a  quick  thrill  through  my  stiffening  veins 
And  braced  me  to  my  work.     And  it  is  she 
Who,  at  this  moment,  dares  to  cross  my  path, 
And  set  her  feeble  madness  against  mine  ! 

[  With  a  gesture  of  menace,  she  goes  out. 


140  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 


FLIGHT. 

SCENE    IV. 

A  highway  through  a  desolate  region.     On  either  side  the  road,  black 
ened  stumps  of  trees.    A  large  uprooted  pine  beside  the  road. 
enters,  carrying  her  child. 


I  will  take  rest.     This  fallen  pine-tree  offers 
Its  friendly  trunk.     My  strength  is  unexhausted, 
But  it  is  prudent  to  forestall  fatigue.  — 

[Looking  at  her  child, 

He  sleeps.     He  trusts  in  me,  and  I  in  God. — 

[Looking  upward  devoutly. 

O  Thou  great  Parent,  who  hast  led  my  steps 

Amid  a  thousand  snares  thus  far  in  safety, 

Thou  wilt  not  leave  me  now !     I  feel  Thy  hand 

Supporting  and  protecting.     Without  Thee, 

How  could  I,  timid,  ignorant,  and  feeble, 

Have  wound  my  way  amid  strange  men  and  scenes 

With  a  calm  face,  clear  sense,  and  untired  frame  ?  — 

[Looks  on  her  child. 

How  oft,  sweet  sleeper,  in  my  days  of  ease, 
When  I  have  carried  thee  a  little  hour 
Through  the  smooth  walks  of  what  was  then  my  garden, 
My  wearied  arms  have  asked  for  aid !  —  and  now 
All  night  'I  walk  the  rugged,  dreary  road, 
And  in  the  daytime,  crouching  hi  some  hollow, 


FLIGHT.  Ul 

Or  hidden  in  a  thicket's  tangled  depths, 

I  hold  thee  still,  and  hardly  dare  to  catch 

An  hour  of  troubled  sleep,  lest  I  should  wake      "•* 

To  find  thee  no  more  there,  —  yet,  unfatigued 

And  strong  of  heart,  I  still  hold  on  my  way !  — 

[Looking  upwards. 

Oh,  not  my  own,  from  Thee  this  strength  is  sent! 

[Rising. 

Almighty  Father,  hear  my  humble  prayer ! 

This  life,  which  Thou  till  now  hast  crowned  with  blessing, 

So  that  my  few  years  hold  the  happiness 

Of  a  long,  long  career,  to  Thee  I  give  it  ! 

The  faults  of  those  to  whom  I  owe  existence 

Demand  atonement.     Let  me  offer  it ! 

Let  want  and  care,  let  ceaseless  toil  and  hardship 

Become  my  portion !  or,  if  so  Thou  deemest, 

Let  me  at  once  complete  the  sacrifice, 

And  lay  me  down  in  an  uncared-for  grave ! 

But,  oh,  protect  for  me  this  innocent  head ! 

Let  the  imputed  guilt  expire  with  me, 

The  curse  die  out  before  it  reaches  him ! 

When  for  the  first  time  I  beheld  his  face 
And  felt  his  soft  cheek  on  my  happy  breast, 
Inly  did  I  devote  him  to  Thy  service, 
Thou  God  of  love  anfl  truth  !     Accept  the  vow  I 
Let  this  subsist,  though  all  the  rest  were  fleeting; 
Let  this  alone  of  all  my  hopes  be  crowned  1 

God !  if  I  asked  amiss,  when  I  implored  Thee 


142  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

To  turn  away  from  him  the  earthly  ill 
That  I  accept  with  meekness,  oh,  forgive 
The  mother's  frailty,  nor,  for  this  presumption, 
Reject  that  earlier  prayer  that  all  embraced! 
Take  him  as  Thine !     With  faith  I  yield  him  up. 
His  way  be  bright  or  clouded  at  Thy  pleasure, 
Let  but  the  path  he  follows  lead  to  Thee !  — 

[  The,  sound  of  a  carriage  is  heard. 

The  sound  of  carriage-wheels !    Hark !    Nearer !  nearer  ! 

At  this  late  hour,  upon  this  lonely  road, 

What  travellers  are  these,  and  what  their  errand? 

The  moon  shines  clear,  —  no  tree,  no  hiding-place ! 

I  must  walk  firmly  on  and  brave  the  danger. 

Does  my  fate  seek  me  with  these  coming  wheels  ?  — 

The  carriage  stops ;  some  one  descends  and  follows.  — 

O  God,  look  down  on  us !  we  have  but  Thee  ! 

[Helen  walks  on.    LESLIE,  who  has  descended  from  the  carriage, 
enters  and  follows  her. 

LESLIE. 
Fear  not !  I  come  to  serve  you,  not  betray. 

HELEN,  stopping. 

You  know  me? 

LESLIE.        * 

Yes:  you  have  forgotten  me? 

HELEN. 

Your  name  I  have  forgotten;  pardon  me. 


FLIGHT.  143 

LESLIE. 

James  Leslie,  tutor  to  your  father's  nephew. 

Four  years  have  passed.     My  face  is  strange  to  you. 

The  time  is  short  for  explanations.     Trust  me 

Upon  the  faith  of  your  own  noble  soul. 

I  see  that  you  confide  in  me.-     Then  hasten! 

With  morning's  dawn  you  shall  be  placed  in  safety. 


Till  morning  dawn  you  will  remain  in  danger. 

LESLIE. 

I  am  commissioned  by  your  friend. 

HELEN. 

What  friend 

Did  me  this  wrong,  to  set  another  life 
On  the  same  cast  with  mine?     Return!  return! 
Nor  lay  the  burden  of  another  grief 
Upon  a  heart  too  heavy-laden ! 


Hear  me ! 

Not  rashly,  not  presumptuously,  I  offer 
An  unasked  aid.     Your  earliest,  truest  friend 
Consigned  to  me  this  charge.     I  have  assumed  it. 
Though  you  refuse  to  ratify  my  claim, 
I  cannot  lay  it  down.     I  share  your  danger, 
Though  you  permit  me  not  to  aid  your  safety. 
I  have  not  come  alone:  a  trusty  guide, 


144  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

Whose  life  may  answer  for  this  deed,  conducts  me. 
A  woman,  who,  through  love  of  you,  has  dared 
The  guilt  of  flight,  the  danger  of  recapture, 
Awaits  her  fate  in  yours.     Reward  their  truth: 
Let  them  be  saved  with  you.     Or,  if  we  fail, 
Let  them  enjoy  at  least  the  martyr's  solace, 
The  suffering  in  a  noble  cause,  —  not  waste 
Their  lives  on  a  despised,  rejected  service. 

[THERESA  enters ;  she  takes  the  child  silently  from  the  arms  of 
the  mother  and  clasps  it  to  her  bosom. 


Have  I  no  choice  ?     Oh,  spare  me,  generous  man ! 
Leave,  then,  these  two,  whose  fate  is  bound  with  mine. 
Let  us  pursue  our  way  together.     You, 
Who  risk  no  danger  when  apart  from  us, 
Leave  us.     At  least  your  ruin  spare  me  ! 


These 

Are  here  upon  my  faith.     You  will  not  ask  me 
To  fly  the  danger  I  myself  prepared? 

HELEN. 

I  have  no  choice !  — 
[To  Theresa. 

My  poor  Theresa,  come  ! 
Is,  then,  thy  love  so  true  ?  — 

[  Theresa  seizes  the  hand  of  Helen  and  presses  it  to  her  lips.  At 
a  signal  from  Leslie,  a  man  approaches,  in  whom  Helen  recog 
nizes  EZEKIEL. 


FLIGHT.  145 

It  is  the  preacher ! 


Why  is  he  here? 


This  work  was  given  me. 
Delay  not,  for  my  time  is  short.     Behold, 
The  night  is  near,  wherein  no  man  can  work ! 

[  They  all  go  out  in  the  direction  of  the  carriage. 


TRAGEDY     OF    SUCCESS. 


PURSUIT. 


TRAGEDY    OP    SUCCESS. 


PURSUIT. 

SCENE  I. 

Room  in  the  home  at  Selrespiro.  HERMANN.  HERBERT,  who  holds 
a  paper  in  his  hand.  They  are  seated  at  a  table  on  which  lie 
papers. 

HERBERT. 

I  'm  glad  to  have  my  own  convictions  strengthened 

By  your  opinion.     See,  the  proofs  he  brings  me 

Agree  in  every  point  with  memoranda 

Found  among  Stanley's  papers.     Years  ago 

He  made,  at  the  entreaty  of  his  daughter, 

A  diligent  investigation  into 

Poor  Hecate's  antecedents. 

HERMANN1 

Yes,  it  was  so. 
I  was  consulted,  and  knew  every  step. 

[Pointing  to  some  of  the  papers  on  the  table. 

These  memoranda  are  in  my  handwriting. 

[Taking  up  otfiers. 

These  papers  are  in  Helen's.    They  contain 


150  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

Poor  Hecate's  narrative.     The  leading  facts 
Agree  with  his  confessions.     Of  the  shipwreck 
She  made  no  mention. 


Could  she  have  forgotten  ? 


Improbable.     She  yielded  to  the  longing 

To  make  her  story  known,  —  her  claim  to  freedom ; 

But  shrank  from  wholly  lifting  up  the  veil 

That  hid  her  origin.     She  gave  no  aid 

To  our  endeavors.     When  our  pressing  questions 

Led  her  to  apprehend  a  serious  purpose 

To  look  into  her  statements,  she  was  silent. 

And  now ! 

HERBERT. 

If  you  made  one  more  trial  ? 


Fruitless ! 

Her  brain  has  borne  the  last.     It  could  escape 
From  suffering  only  by  laying  down 
The  power  to  suffer.     She  sits  mild  and  still, 
And,  with  a  quiet  smile,  gives  like  assent 
To  every  question. 

HERBERT. 

A  new  grief  for  Helen  ! 


PURSUIT.  151 

HERMANN. 

But  to  the  wretched  sufferer  herself 

This  calm  oblivion  comes  like  Heaven's  pardon. 

HERBERT. 

You  think  there  is  no  hope  of  cure  ? 


No  hope. 

On  her  numbed  brain  the  deadening  weight  will  rest 
During  her  earthly  years,  her  years  of  penance. 
Death  will  release  her  first.     Her  sleeping  soul, 
Its  expiation  past,  will  wake  to  peace.  — 

[Hermann  remains  silent  a  few  moments;  then  extends  his  hand 
for  the  paper  which  Herbert  holds,  takes  it  and  examines  it. 

I  always  hoped,  that,  soon  or  late,  the  clue 
To  guide  us  in  our  further-  search  would  offer. 
We  got  three  stages  on  the  road,  no  more. — 

[Examining  the  papers. 

Yes,  here  's  the  name  of  that  slave-trader ;  here 
That  of  the  man  he  had  them  from ;  and  here  — 
Yes,  here  's  the  third.  — 

[Takes  a  paper  from  the  table  and  compares  the  two. 

The  same.     This  man,  this  Woodford, 
Beginning  at  the  other  end,  arrives 
At  the  same  point  where  our  researches  failed; 
Thence  tracing  backwards  the  same  road  we  followed, 
Here  comes  upon  the  objects  of  his  search. 
He  held  the  first  link,  as  we  had  the  last ; 
And  now,  between  us,  see  the  chain  completed ! 


152  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

HEBBERT. 

There  is  no  moral  doubt.     The  legal  proofs 


"We  shall  complete  them.     This  man's  deposition 
Has  all  been  taken  down  and  duly  witnessed. 
I  have  had  care  of  that.  —  And  now  for  Dorcas. 
Her  testimony  has  no  legal  worth, 
But  her  confession  of  complicity 
Would  bring  strong  confirmation  to  our  minds. 
She  is  still  obstinate.     'T  is  hard  to  find 
A  way  to  work  on  her  perverted  wilL 


HERBERT. 


Persuasions,  promises,  are  lost  on  her. 
Threats 

HERMANN. 

Worse  than  useless.     We  must  try  to  find 
Her  master  motive :  with  that  key  we  open 
The  locked  cells  of  her  breast.     It  were  in  vain 
To  try  to  force  an  entrance,  or  to  win  one 
By  indirect  expedients.     We  must  have 
The  veritable  clue,  or  waste  our  efforts. 
Woodford  said  something  of  an  injury 
She  thinks  herself  to  have  received.     In  this 
May  be  the  key  to  her  mysterious  conduct : 
For  no  advantage  to  herself  has  come, 
It  seems,  from  all  her  crimes.     Let  her  be  sent  for. 
We  will  confront  her  with  this  man  once  more. 
Leave  me  to  question  her.     If  once  we  touch 


PUESUIT.  153 

Upon  the  burning  spot,  the  hidden  pain 
Will  quick  reveal  its  presence. 

HERBERT. 

We  can  try. 

HERMANN. 

The  springs  of  action  in  barbarian  natures 
Are  very  simple.     In  the  cultured  races, 
The  moral  structure,  mental  apparatus, 
Become  more  complex.     The  expanded  brain, 
Whose  delicate  fibres  vibrate  ceaselessly, 
Thrilled  by  a  myriad  shifting  influences, 
Is  subject  to  surprises  and  to  failures 
Which  the  strong,  rugged  engine  of  the  will 
And  plans  of  the  barbarian  does  not  know. 
We  cannot  boast  the  singleness  of  purpose, 
The  long  endurance,  and  the  self-control 
Which  mark  the  savage ;  but  he  oftener 
Becomes  the  victim  of  a  master  passion 
That  rules  him  and  betrays  him  at  its  will. — 
But  Dorcas  is  not  all  barbarian.     She 
Has  a  large  share  of  cultivated  blood. 
We  have  a  sharp  intelligence  to  combat,  — 
Only  made  sharper  by  the  trace  of  madness 
That  lurks  in  it.     We  must  move  warily.  — 
Woodford  has  been  already  summoned  ? 


Yes. 
And  here  he  is. 


154  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

[  WOODFORD  is  ushered  in  by  a  servant.  He  is  pale  and  emaciated; 
his  manner  depressed  and  humble.  Herbert  regards  him  with 
scorn;  Hermann  with  compassion. 

HERBERT,  to  the  servant. 

Send  Dorcas  here  at  once!  — 
[To  Woodford. 
And  you  persist  in  this  strange  tale  you  tell? 

WOODFORD. 

'T  would  not  avail  me  to  retract  it  now. 

HERBERT. 

But  have  you  talked  with  Dorcas  ?    Have  you  made  her 
Confess  her  guilt  yet? 

WOODFORD. 

I  have  done  my  best 

To  draw  her  on  to  speak,  but  all  in  vain. 
She  tells  me  I  am  mad,  or  does  not  answer. 
She  never  will  be  brought  to  a  confession. 

HERBERT. 

But  we  must  have  it.     You  must  get  it  from  her. 

WOODFOHD. 

I  would  undo  a  portion  of  the  ill 

That  I  have  done,  before  I  seek  the  grave 

That  waits  for  me.     My  days,  I  know,  are  numbered. 

What  lies  in  me  I  Ve  done.     This  woman's  madness 

Or  obduracy  is  beyond  my  force. 


PURSUIT.  155 

HERMANS. 

We  will  have  one  more  trial. 

[To  Herbert. 

You  '11  allow  me 
To  act  inquisitor? 

HEBBEET. 

I  trust  your  skill. 
[  DORCAS  enters,  and  curtsies  profoundly. 

HERMANN,  aside. 
Her  countenance  is  not  encouraging. 

HERBERT. 

Come  near  and  answer  all  the  Doctor's  questions. 
Straight,  mind !     No  dodging  !     Look  him  in  the  face. 

HERMANN,   to  DoTCOt. 

Dorcas,  you  know  this  man  ? 

DOBCAS. 

I  've  seen  him. 


Where  ? 

DOBCAS. 

Here,  yesterday. 

HERMANN. 

And  not  before  ? 


156  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

DORCAS. 

Perhaps. 

I  have  seen  many  people  in  my  days. 
He  's  not  so  marked  that  I  should  keep  his  likeness. 

HERBERT. 

Have  you  not  seen  him  many  years  ago  ? 

DORCAS. 
Perhaps,  —  I  cannot  say. 

HERMANN. 

Perhaps  in  Cuba? 

DORCAS. 

I  cannot  say.     My  memory  is  weak. 

HERMANN. 

Weak  for  late  things,  —  but  those  passed  long  ago, 
Are  they  not  graven  deeper? 

DORCAS. 

To  my  sorrow  ! 

HERMANN. 

Search,  then,  and  find  the  image  of  this  man. 

DORCAS. 

He  is  not  there.     He  is  not  worth  it 


PURSUIT.  157 

HERBERT,  to  Woodford. 

Are  you 
Sure  that  this  is  the  very  woman? 

WOODFOKD. 

Yes. 

She  is  much  changed;  but  she  revealed  herself, 
And  left  no  doubt  of  her  identity. 
She  spoke  of  things  known  but  to  her  and  me. 

HERBERT. 

This  woman  was  your  sole  accomplice,  then  ? 

WOODFORD. 

The  only  full  accomplice.     There  were  men 

Who  guessed  at  wrong,  though  not  at  all  the  wrong,  — 

As  I  have  told  you,  —  who  had  doubts,  at  least, 

As  to  the  clearness  of  my  property 

In  those  I  sold. 

HERBERT. 

But  as  to  their  condition 
And  race  suspected  nothing.  — 

[  To  Hermann,  aside. 

These  will  have 

No  motive  to  withhold  their  testimony. 
It  will  not  criminate  them.    This  man  absolves  them. 


We  will  collect  it  with  all  due  precautions, 
Not  to  alarm  them.    We  shall  have  it.    Now- 


158  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

HERBERT,  to  Woodford. 

Then  in  that  crime  most  heinous,  sacrilegious, 

Of  giving  up  to  misery  and  debasement 

Those  precious  lives  that  fiends  might  have   respected, 

You  had  no  other  tool,  associate, 

Than  Dorcas  here  ? 

WOODFORD. 

No  other. 

HERBERT,  aside  to  Hermann. 

She  alone 
Can  tell  us  all  we  want  to  know. 


Have  patience. 

Let  me  interrogate.     Do  not  alarm  her. 
You  only  drive  her  into  sullen  silence.  — 

[To  Woodford. 
Tell  in  her  presence  all  you  know  of  her. 

WOODFORD. 

She  was  a  favorite  slave,  and  much  indulged. 
She  had  some  talents,  danced  and  sang  well. 

HERBERT. 

Dorcas  ? 

WOODFOBD. 

Pamela  she  was  called  then.    You  could  not, 
Seeing  her  now,  dream  what  that  creature  was 


PURSUIT.  159 

Some  forty  years  ago.     So  gay  and  graceful, 

So  soft  and  winning,  when  she  would  !     They  called  her 

The  little  fairy,  for  her  grace  and  lightness. 

Ah,  that  was  long  ago  ! 

HERMANN. 

Has  she  left  children 
In  Cuba? 

WOODFOED. 

No,  —  I  think  she  had  no  children, 
Except  a  daughter,  given  to  Miss  Emma,  — 
Miss  Emma  Fortescue,  now  Mrs.  Stanley.  — 
She  must  have  found  her  daughter  here  again, 
If  she  be  living. 

DOKCAS,  to  herself. 
Living  ?  —  with  Miss  Emma  ? 

HERMANN,   tO  DOTCOt. 

Have  you  a  daughter  ? 

DORCAS,  with  excitement. 

Have  I?    Tell  me,  have  I? 
Give  me  my  daughter,  and  I  '11  tell  you  all! 

WOODFOED. 

If  she  be  living,  you  have  known  her  here. 

DORCAS. 

No,  —  there  is  no  one  here  so  beautiful. 

No,  —  there  is  no  one  here  who  sings  so  sweetly. 


160  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

HERBERT. 

There  is  a  woman  who  came  here  from  Cuba 
With  Mrs.  Stanley. 

HERMANN. 

It  is  that  Theresa, 
Who  at  this  moment 

DORCAS,  with  sudden  illumination. 

Yes  !  it  is  Theresa ! 
Theresa  is  my  child !     Oh,  save  her !  save  her  ! 

HERBERT,  to   Woodford. 

Was  her  child's  name  Theresa  ? 

DORCAS. 

Not  her  name: 
It  is  herself!  it  is  herself! 

WOODFORD. 

Her  name, 
The  name  she  had  at  first,  was  changed,  I  think. 

The  new  name  was But  here  I  have  some  minutes 

From  my  old  books  of  all  that  could  concern 

[  Takes  out  a  pocket-book  and  examines  papers. 

Theresa,  —  yes,  —  accompanied  Miss  Emma. 

HERMANN. 

Pamela  did  not  know 

WOODFORD. 

'T  was  kept  from  her 


PURSUIT.  161 

To  save  her  feelings.     She  was  left  to  think 
Her  child  would  soon  come  back, — next  day, — next  week. 
She  thought  her  on  a  neighboring  plantation. 
Thus  time  wore  on  and  her  grief  passed  away. 

DORCAS,  falling  on  Tier  knees. 
I  will  confess !     Oh,  only  listen  to  me ! 
I  am  Pamela !    I  did  all  he  says  !  — 
And  more  !  —  and  more !     But  only  give  her  back, 
And  I  will  undo  all! 

HERBERT. 

Where  is  Theresa  ? 

HERMANN. 

Fled  with 

HERBERT. 

With  —  Helen  ? 

HERMANN. 

Yes.— 

[To  Dorcas. 

She  is  in  safety. 

HERBERT,  uneasily. 

I  gave  strict  charge  to  those  who  followed  them 
To  use  no  force,  to  give  no  cause  for  scandal, 
But  to  bring  back 

HERMANN. 

Have  no  uneasiness. 
E 


162  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

They  will  not  be  brought  back,  but  they  may  come  back 
When  this  is  all  made  clear,  —  if  you  desire  it : 
They  will  not  be  brought  back.     They  're  safe  ere  this. 
Your  messengers  have  followed  a  wrong  track. 

[Smiling. 

HERBERT. 

You  were  a  party  ?  —  Ah,  I  thought  as  much ! 
Your  sudden  absence 

HERMANN. 

You  '11  forgive  me  now  ? 

HERBEET. 

The  more,  that  I  was  not  deceived:  the  course 
You  took  gave  me  in  fact  the  clue. 

HERMANN,  laughing. 

Indeed ! 

Well,  we  shall  see. — 

[To  Dorcas,  kindly. 

She  's  safe. 

DORCAS,  stM  on  her  knees. 

Oh,  master ! 


Peace ! 

DORCAS,  in  extremity  of  anguish. 

There  are  more  hounds  upon  their  track  than  yours. 
I  set  them  on,  —  I  set  them  on  my  child! 


PURSUIT.  163 

HERMANN,  alarmed. 
What  do  you  say  ? 

DORCAS. 

Oh,  save  her!     Save  Miss  Helen, 
And  my  child  with  her  !     Save  her  ! 

HERBERT. 

Save  ?  —  from  what  ? 

DORCAS. 

How  do  I  know  ?     Save  them  from  stripes,  from  chains, 
From  brutal  jailers ! 

HERBERT. 

Peace,  madwoman ! 

DORCAS. 

No! 

You  would  not  hear  my  words ;  you  mocked  at  me. 
I  offered  you  my  guidance :  you  refused  it. 
I  went  to  those  who  listened, — sold  the  news 
I  offered  you  for  nothing.     He  set  forth 
Upon  the  track  I  pointed  out. 

HERBERT,  impatiently. 

He  ?  —  who  ? 


I  thought  to  strike  my  latest  blow  at  Hecate, 
And  through  her  stabbed  my  child ! 


164  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 


HERMANN. 

And  Hecate  knew 


DOECAS. 

'T  was  the  last  thing  she  knew. 


HERBERT,  furiously. 

Who  set  forth?     Who? 


Ezekiel's  master  I 

HERMANN. 

That  remorseless  man  ! 
He  stops  at  nothing! 

[Dorcas  Jails  forward  insensible. 

HERBERT,  to  a  servant. 

Drag  her  out !  —  My  horse 
Without  delay! 

[  Woodford  and  the  servant  remove  Dorcas. 


No,  let  me  go  instead  ! 

I  know  the  road  they  took.     If  they  come  back 
By  another  route,  you  can  receive  them  here. 
It  is  best  so,  believe  me.  — 


I  will  not 


Bring  her  back  here,  but  take  her  to  the  North 
Until  all  this  is  settled. — 


PURSUIT.  165 

[To  Herbert. 

Give  me  power 

To  act  for  you.     A  most  unpleasant  journey 
'T  would  be  for  you.     You  are  far  better  here. 
And  the  first  meeting  under  circumstances 

HERBERT,  hastily. 

It  will  be  best.     You  're  right     Go,  act  for  me. 
How  soon  can  you  be  ready? 

HERMANN. 

Now! 


Agreed ! 

I  will  prepare  the  necessary  papers. — 
Of  these  new  matters  not  a  word,  you  know, 
Out  of  this  room,  till  we  have  all  in  order. 
I  am  convinced ;  but  to  convince  the  world 
More  is  required. 

HERMANN. 

I  '11  choose  the  horse  myself 
That  is  to  carry  me;  I  am  no  horseman, 
And  yours  perhaps  would  scorn  my  awkward  hand. 

HERBERT. 

Choose  while  I  write. — 
[Hermann  goes  out. 

Am  I,  then,  glad  or  sorry? 


166  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

My  wife  is  still  my  wife ;  that  radiant  creature 
Will  light  my  life  once  more. 

Her  birth  is  stained, — 
Not  with  that  deep,  abominable  taint, — 
But  stained.     How  shall  I  hide  it  from  myself? 
How  from  the  world  ?     We  must  invent  some  story, 
And  it  must  be  accepted.     We  '11  suppress 

One  part  of  Hecate's  history  ;  we  '11  bring  forward 

Well,  something  will  occur.  —  Meanwhile,  we  '11  travel 
During  a  certain  time.     We  '11  go  abroad. 

And  then Oh,  everything  wears  out  in  time  !  — 

What  will  my  father  say? 

Oh,  bitter  fate! 

Oh,  were  I  what  I  was  two  weeks  ago  ! 
Have  I  done  right  in  yielding  to  this  German  ? 
Yes,  it  was  well.     He  will  conduct  her  hither. 
Here  is  her  place,  —  in  any  case,  her  place. 

Poor  homeless  dove,  thy  resting-place  is  here! 
What  is  the  world  to  me  ?     My  angel  wife  ! 
We  will  defy  it,  will  forget  it !  come  !  — 
The  Doctor  will  return.     This  must  be  ready. 
[He  draws  the  writing-materials  towards  him  and  writes. 


PURSUIT.  167 


PURSUIT. 

SCENE    II. 

In  front  of  the  house.    HEKMANN  walks  up  and  down,  making  gestures 
of  impatience. 

HERMANN. 

Not  ready  yet !     Well,  I  must  wait  their  pleasure. 
They  '11  take  their  time.     No  use  in  fretting  at  them. 
Patience,  then  !  patience  !  —  Now  I  think  of  it, 
Who  's  to  go  with  me  ?     Ah,  well  thought  of !  who  ? 
Boaz  ?     No,  no !     Melas  ?     Yes.     Milo  ?     Yes. 
Philip?     No.     Pyrrhus?     Yes.     No.  —  Two  will  do 
Better  than  more.     The  tender-hearted  Melas, 
The  sturdy  Milo. — 

[  To  a  servant  who  passes. 

Boy,  go  call  me  Melas 

And  Milo  quickly.     Bid  them  dress  themselves 
To  attend  me  on  a  journey  for  the  master. 
Tell  them  they  go  on  horseback,  —  that  the  horses 
Are  almost  ready,  —  they  must  make  despatch. — 

[Servant  goes. 

Patience,  now  !  patience  !     If  I  took  a  book  ?  — 

[  Takes  out  a  book  and  begins  to  read. 
I  cannot.  — 

[Looks  at  his  watch. 

After  all,  not  twenty  minutes. 
It  must  have  stopped.  — 


168  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

[Puts  his  watch  to  his  ear. 

No.     Sit  down  quietly. — 

[He  seats  himself  on  a  rustic  bench,  takes  off"  his  hat  and  placet 
it  beside  him,  leans  back,  and  falls  into  a  Jit  of  musing. 

This  Dorcas  is  for  me  a  curious  study. 
Her  mother  was  a  native  African, 
A  princess,  —  so  she  says,  and  I  believe  it. 
Her  father  was  a  Spanish  nobleman. 
She  tells  no  lie  in  that.     The  most  worn-out 
Of  worn-out  castes  is  this  noblesse  of  Spain. 
She  is  the  product  of  an  undeveloped 
And  of  an  effete  race.     Yes,  that  is  it. 
The  moral  faculties,  the  last  to  reach 
Their  full  perfection  hi  the  rising  race, 
Are  also  first  to  show  deterioration 
In  a  declining  one.     The  intellect 
Seems  for  a  season  to  rest  unimpaired, 
Or  is  but  rendered  more  acute  and  prompt 
By  the  enfeebling  of  the  hold  of  conscience. 
Dorcas  unites  the  fixedness  of  purpose 
And  the  strong  passions  of  a  rising  race 
With  the  keen  intellectual  subtilty 
Of  a  degenerate  one. 

From  both  her  parents, 
The  savage  princess  and  the  Spanish  noble, 
She  has  her  blind,  unreasoning  arrogance, 
And  that  intolerance  of  subjection  found 
In  families  in  which  the  use  of  power 
Has  been  hereditary,  —  that  impatience 
Of  all  restraint  that  sends  the  unlawful  scions 


PUKSUIT.  169 

Of  noble  or  royal  houses  on  adventure 
Glorious  or  criminal,  and  which  compels, 
When  other  outlet  from  compulsion  fails, 
To  deep  dissimulation,  or  the  refuge 
Of  death  self-given. 

Well,  what  more  ingredients 
Go  to  make  up  this  strange,  fantastic  whole? 
Or  with  her  African  or  Spanish  blood  — 
For  either  lineage  might  promise  it  — 
She  has  received  the  ecstatic  temperament 
Which  lets  her  claim,  perhaps  endows  her  with 
A  subtile  sense,  a  preternatural  insight, 
Through  which  she  reads  and  rules  the  minds  of  others  : 
Power,  to  its  owners  even,  obscure  and  awful, 
Working  unbid,  absent  when  most  entreated. 

This  Woodford  says  that  in  her  youth  she  was 

A  buoyant  creature,  made  for  dance  and  song,  — 

Fitful  and  wayward,  but  yet  full  of  charm. 

I  can  conceive  it,  startling  as  it  seems. 

Yes,  just  these  light,  capricious,  graceful  natures, 

In  their  youth  so  enchanting,  and  that  guard  — 

When  all  most  happy  circumstances  meet  — 

Even  to  old  age  sometimes  their  fascination, 

Are  those  that,  the  required  conditions  given, 

Develop  the  most  dark  depravity. 

I  saw  a  picture  once  in  Italy 

Of  a  fair  girl  whose  fresh,  arch,  dimpled  face 

Was  turned  towards  a  mirror  that  gave  back, 

Not  the  young  loveliness  which  sought  its  image, 


170  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

But  that  same  countenance  when  years  had  written 

The  history  of  a  lifetime  in  its  lines  : 

A  care-ploughed  forehead  mocked  that   smooth   young 

brow; 

A  gleam  of  guile  replaced  the  coquetry 
That  flickered  from  those  gay,  defiant  eyes ; 
Malevolent  scorn  replied  to  innocent  archness ; 
Effrontery  answered  sweet  audacity. 
Oh,  what  a  tragedy  was  written  there ! 
Even  such  a  tragedy  that  creature's  life  ! 
And  such  surround  us,  if  we  could  but  see  them ! 

Hecate  —  a  ruin  of  another  sort ! 

What  elements  are  met  in  her  ?     Her  mother, 

By  her  account,  which  Woodford  has  confirmed, 

A  sweet  and  gentle  lady.     The  affection 

Her  feeble  younger  sister  felt  for  her 

Would  seem  to  show  her  strong  as  well  as  tender; 

For  the  weak  love  not  weakness. 

Hecate's  father  ? 

By  all  that  we  can  learn  of  him  from  Woodford, 
And  from  the  facts  that  have  transpired,  it  seems 
He  must  have  been  a  man  of  energy 
And  of  refinement,  but  imperious, 
Unscrupulous,  and  passionate.     In  Hecate 
We  see  the  father's  ardent,  resolute  nature, 
His  love  of  power,  his  pride,  his  rashness,  tempered 
By  the  poor  mother's  truth  and  tenderness. 
Here  the  barbarian  element  is  absent. 
Not  here  the  absorption  of  all  faculties 


PURSUIT.  171 

In  one  idea,  that  single-minded  hate 

That  feasted  slowly  on  its  victim's  ruin 

"With  the  long  patience  of  a  safe  revenge. 

Her  act  was  prompted  more  by  love  than  vengeance  : 

She  sought  to  save  her  child.     The  hapless  being 

Who  exchanged  lots  with  it  was  sacrificed 

Because  no  other  means  of  rescue  offered. 

If  she  refused  to  the  defrauded  one 

The  name  of  child,  withheld  the  tenderness 

That  might  have  softened  her  hard  lot,  't  was  not 

From  cruelty :  her  loyal  nature  shrank 

From  winning  love  of  one  whom  she  had  wronged. 

Poor  Hecate !  in  the  abject  Perdita 

You  saw  your  punishment,  and  not  your  triumph ; 

Hated  in  her  the  victim  of  your  crime 

More  than  your  rival's  daughter.     Thou  poor  heart, 

That  shouldst  have  been  the  home  of  noble  thoughts, 

What  hard  decree  of  the  unpitying  Fates 

Made  thee  the  covert  of  remorse  and  shame  ? 

Dorcas  was  silent ;  in  her  desert  heart 

She  held  her  secret,  and  her  hateful  joys,  . 

Content  to  live  apart  from  sympathy.   . 

But  Hecate  found,  in  that  blank  solitude 

Her  misery  and  her  pride  had  spread  about  her, 

A  bitter  penance.     To  the  only  being 

She  had  a  right  to  love  she  opened  glimpses 

Of  her  past  life  and  inward  world,  thus  risking 

Discoveries  that  more  than  death  she  dreaded. 

By  every  means  she  sought  to  find  an  outlet 


172  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

For  her  full  heart;  in  tale  and  song  she  poured  it, 

"Winning  compassion  for  imagined  griefs 

That  she  might  feign  it  yielded  to  her  own. 

Oh,  blest  Oblivion,  shroud  her  senses  still ! 

To  wake  to  feeling  were  to  wake  to  pain. 

Oh,  shroud  them  still  in  thy  compassionate  darkness, 

Until  with  thine  the  mortal  veil  is  rent !  — 

A  movement  yonder,  and  the  tramp  of  horses  ! 
At  last !  at  last !     Now  I  rejoin  you,  Helen ! 
Now  I  escort  you  freely,  openly, 
To  a  safe  home!     But  you  are  there  already. 
That  wretched  woman  overrates  her  mischief  : 
She  could  not  know  our  plans,  has  not  betrayed  them. 
Ah,  will  the  face  of  your  old  friend  be  pleasant  ? 

[Goes  out. 


TRAGEDY     OF    SUCCESS. 


RESCUE. 


TRAGEDY    OF    SUCCESS. 


RESCUE. 

SCENE    I. 

A  prison,  partly  underground,  lighted  by  a  small  window  near  the  ceil 
ing.  HELEN  is  seated  on  the  ground  in  a  corner  of  the  cell,  her  head 
supported  against  the  watt.  She  looks  faint  and  exhausted.  Her 
child  lies  asleep  on  her  lap.  In  another  part  of  the  cell  lies  THE- 
EESA,  stretched  on  some  straw. 


HELEN. 

Theresa ! 

THEBESA. 

I  am  here.     What  wouldst  thou,  mistress? 


Only  to  hear  thy  voice. 

THERESA,  sitting  up. 

Thou  feel'st  this  silence  ? 

These  cruel  walls !     Only  the  ceaseless  dropping 
Of  the  foul  water  that  but  mocks  our  fever! 
Could  but  a  groan  or  sigh  come  through  to  us! 


176  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

HELEN. 

My  poor  Theresa!     This  is  not  thy  place. 
For  thee  the  sunshine  and  the  warm  spring  air. 
Thy  soul  has  need  of  healing,  not  of  penance. 
Why  must  thou  share  my  lot? 

THERESA,  rising. 

Oh,  let  me  share  it ! 

The  elder  griefs  find  soothing  in  the  new. 
These  cooling  tears,  through  which  my  frozen  brain 
Thawed  into  life,  were  given  to  thy  sorrows. 
Dear  mistress,  all  there  is  of  sense  and  will 
In  this  awakening  heart  belongs  to  thee. 
I  have  no  soul  but  thine,  no  life  but  thine. — 

[Pause. 

Oh,  were  I  but  alone  to  share  thy  fate  ! 
Hearts  better  worth  than  mine  are  breaking  near. 

[Leans  her  head  against  the  waU,  as  if  listening. 
This  thirst  that  wastes  us,  oh,  how  doubly  parching 
It  lies  upon  the  hot  lips  of  the  wounded  ! 
Oh,  mistress  dear,  you  that  were  once  so  high, 
You  have  no  power  now  greater  than  the  humblest ! 
These  walls,  these  bolts,  stand  firm  before  your  word, 
Feeble  as  my  poor  tears. 


If  God  had  willed, 

My  feeble  word,  thy  helpless  tears,  had  been 
Stronger  than  walls  and  bars. 


RESCUE.  177 

THERESA. 


How  calm  thou  art! 
Is  this  peace  real  ?     Or  does  it  storm  within  ? 


Peace  is  at  hand,  most  real.     Not  human  wrath, 
But  His  calm  will  conducts  me  to  my  fate. 
I  feel  His  hand.     I  yield  me  to  its  guidance. 
The  path  is  short.     For  thee,  my  poor  Theresa, 
Whose  earthly  journey  ends  not  here,  for  thee, 
And  for  the  faithful  guide,  the  noble  friend, 
My  heart  is  heavy.     But  the  great  Disposer, 
"Who  has  ordained  my  fate,  has  ordered  theirs. 
I  will  trust  them  to  Him,  as  I  have  trusted 
This  life  so  twined  with  mine  that  its  soft  tendrils 
Hold  back  the  flitting  soul  whose  ties  to  earth 
Are  severed  all  but  these.     Not  long !  not  long ! 
The  upward  force  prevails ;  the  tender  bonds 
Slowly  detach  themselves. 

THERESA. 

How  white!  how  still! 
Oh,  let  me  take  the  child! 

HELEN,  faintly. 

No,  let  him  rest 

Upon  this  heart  while  life  yet  stirs  in  it. 
When  it  is  silent,  warm  him  upon  thine. 

THERESA. 

Thou  wast  so  strong !     The  hardships  of  the  road, 

L 


178  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

The  fasts,  the  watchings  had  no  power  o'er  thee, 
While  our  road  lay  to  freedom.     With  thy  hope 
Thy  life  sank,  too.     Oh,  stay  with  me,  my  mistress! 
Thou  art  my  hope  !     What  am  I  without  thee  ?  — 
What  region  is  it  here  ?     How  far  is  it 
To  where  our  home  was  ?     Have  they  heard  of  us  ? 
If  they  could  know,  oh,  would  they  not  have  pity  ? 

HELEN. 

They  know  not  yet.     The  road  is  long  and  rude. 
Before  they  learn,  between  us  and  their  anger 
Will  stand  the  reconciler.     This  cold  form, 
Impassive  then  to  love  and  hate,  will  win 
With  mute  entreaty  pardon  for  the  love 
Thou  gav'st  the  fugitive.  —  Oh,  might  it  speak 
To  that  poor  heart  the  pardon  of  its  harshness  ! 
He  will  stand  near  me  when  these  senseless  ears 
Are  closed  to  his  regrets,  these  frozen  lips 
Powerless  to  frame  the  accents  of  forgiveness ! 

[Raising  her  head  and  her  clasped  hands. 

Then  soften  Thou  the  anguish  of  that  hour, 
0  Thou  All-Merciful !  forgive !  forgive  ! 

[Her  head  sinks  forward. 

THERESA,  kneeling  beside  her. 
Oh,  lean  thy  weary  head  on  me !  — 

[  Theresa  putt  her  arm  round  Helen  to  draw  her  towards  herself, 
but  suddenly  uttert  a  sharp  cry.  She  remains  in  the  same  pos 
ture  for  a  few  moments,  then  gently  withdraws  the  child  from 
the  lap  of  its  mother.  She  folds  it  tenderly  in  her  arms. 

Mine  now! 


EESCUE.  179 


RESCUE. 

SCENE    II. 
Boom  in  the  house  at  Belrespiro.    HERBERT,  to  whom  enters  BOAZ. 

BOAZ. 
News,  master!  news! 

HERBERT. 

How  dare  you  bellow  out 

"  News  "  in  my  face  ?    What  news  can  you  have  brought 
That  is  not  hateful  as  the  mouth  that  tells  it  ? 


But  news  !  good  news  !     The  runaways  are  taken  I 
'Zekiel  showed  fight.     Only  the  worse  for  him  ! 

HERBERT,  with  great  irritation. 
Tell  what  you  have  to  tell,  and  spare  your  comments ! 


They  're  taken  !  taken !  all  of  them  are  taken ! 
Ezekiel,  and  that  silly  girl  Theresa, 
Who  must  be  running  her  long  goose-neck  in 
To  other  people's  dangers. 

HERBERT,  impatiently. 

Well,  what  else? 


180  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

BOAZ. 

Why,  nothing  else ;  only  they  're  all  in  jail. 

HERBERT. 

All?  —  who? 

BOAZ. 

Ezekiel  and  Theresa  and  — 


HERBERT,  impatiently. 

Her  mistress 

BOAZ. 

Taken ;  and  the  little  child. 

HERBERT,  to  himself. 

The  child  is  my  child.     Helen  is  my  wife 
By  divine  law  and  human.  —  In  a  jail ! 
My  wife  and  child  lodged  in  a  jail!     What  way 
Is  there  now  out  of  this  ?  — 
[To  Boaz. 

You  grinning  rascal, 
Out  of  my  sight !  —  Where  are  you  going  ?     Stop  ! 

BOAZ. 

Thank  master,  yes. 

HERBERT. 

Where  did  you  get  all  this  ? 

BOAZ. 

Turpin  brought  word.  —  I  was  upon  the  watch 


RESCUE.  181 

Out  on  the  road.     I  saw  him,  got  his  news, 

And,  by  a  shorter  path,  ran  here  before  him 

That  Northern  man  that  could  n't  stay  at  home 
Has  got  a  taste  of  Southern  lead. 


What  man? 

BOAZ. 

That  man  that  came  to  help  them  from  the  North, 
Where  all  the  mischief  comes  from. 

HERBERT. 

Silence !     Go, 
Order  the  carriage  out,  the  travelling-carriage. 

BOAZ. 

Master ! 

HERBERT. 

Off  with  you !     Where  's  this  messenger  ? 

BOAZ. 

He  must  be  just  at  hand. 

HERBERT. 

Go,  send  him  here. 
First  order  out  the  carriage. 

BOAZ. 

Master  I 


182  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

HERBERT. 

Go! 

BOAZ. 

But  master  does  n't  know ;  perhaps  they  11  be  here 
Before  he  gets  well  started. 

HERBERT. 

They  will  be  here  ? 


They  were  to  follow  instantly,  he  said. 

HEKBERT. 

The  carriage,  quick  !  — 
[Boaz  goes. 

What  if  they  should  arrive 
Like  captured  runaways  !     Impossible  ! 
They  could  not  dare! — Oh,  what  could  they  not  dare, 
Seeing  her  thus  escaping  and  pursued  ?  — 
But  she  is  mine  again !     Even  if  I  would, 
I  could  not  break  the  ties  that  bind  me  to  her. 
Poor  Helen  !     Oh,  why  could  she  not  have  waited 
But  a  few  days  ?     Oh,  fatal  obstinacy ! 
And  yet  I  bless  it.     Now  she  is  my  wife, 
I  love  the  pride  that  almost  made  me  hate  her.  — 
I  cannot  bear  this  waiting.     I  must  go. 
I  will  walk  on,  and  let  the  carriage  follow. 

[Goes  out. 


EESCUE.  183 


EESCUE. 

SCENE  III. 

The  avenue  at  Belrespiro.  HERBERT  alone.  From  the  spot  where  he 
stands  a  more  distant  part  of  the  winding  avenue  is  visible  through 
an  opening  between  the  trees.  A  number  of  persons  are  seen  mov 
ing  along.  As  Herbert  watches  them,  they  disappear  behind  the 
trees. 

HERBERT. 

What  means  this  moving  mass  ?     It  comes  demurely, 

With  measured  tread.     'T  is  not  a  random  throng, 

And  yet  a  motley.     Men  and  women  walk, 

Holding  the  hands  of  little  children.     Sounds 

Of  voices  raised  in  song  are  borne  to  me. 

What  can  this  mean,  this  strange  audacity? 

Can  they  be  bringing  back  the  lost  in  triumph  ? 

This  is  the  Doctor's  work.     He  has  exceeded 

The  powers  I  gave  him.     I  enjoined  on  him 

The  strictest  secrecy ;  and  yet,  if  they 

Have  not  learned  Helen's  story,  could  they  dare 

To  make  a  demonstration  such  as  this  ?  — 

It  must  be  so.  —  Yet  these  approaching  strains 

Are  mournful  more  than  gay.  —  The  train  is  lost 

Behind  the  trees.     I  will  await  it  here. 

Or  rather,  shall  I  not  return,  receive  her 

Within  the  house?     I  dread  this  public  meeting. 

Yet  our  first  interview,  in  any  case, 

Will  be  constrained.     Perhaps  the  crowd  about  us, 


184  TKAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

"Which  justifies  reserve,  will  rather  aid 

To  make  away  with  these  first  awkward  moments. 

In  public  she  must  be  at  least  polite. 

The  ice  once  broken,  I  shall  find  the  means 

To  justify  myself.     I  will  lay  all 

Upon  my  ardent  love.     She  will  relent 

How  should  she  not?     Her  heart  is  placable. 

He  who  is  loved  is  readily  forgiven. 

The  songs  have  ceased.     Only  the  laggard  trampling 

Of  dilatory  feet.     No  joyful  errand 

Ever  sent  forth  such  tardy  messengers. 

What  ominous  dread  comes  over  me  ?     The  air 

Has  a  strange  chill.     This  crowding  of  events 

On  one  another  has  so  shocked  my  nerves 

That  every  breath  has  power  to  startle  me. 

I  shall  be  seeing  signs  and  wonders  next, 

Like  this  poor  ignorant  people. 

Not  a  sound! 

No  shout,  no  cry,  no  song!     A  deathlike  stillness, 
As  if  the  earth  had  opened  and  received  them ! 
I  will  go  on,  that  the  reality 
May  clear  my  brain  of  these  uneasy  phantoms. 

[ffoe*. 


RESCUE.  185 


EESCUE. 

SCENE  IV. 

Another  part  of  the  avenue.  A  bier  supported  by  four  men,  of  whom 
the  two  in  front  are  MELAS  and  MILO.  They  have  stopped  near 
the  old  tree  mentioned  in  the  First  Part,  round  which  the  ave 
nue  widens.  HERMANN  stands  near  the  bier,  his  head  sunk  on  his 
breast.  FLORA  is  taking  Helen's  child  from  the  arms  of  THERESA, 
who  looks  pale  and  faint,  but  resigns  it  reluctantly.  A  throng  of 
people,  who  have  been  following  in  procession,  stand  silent,  their  eyes 
strained  towards  the  bier,  or  turned  on  each  other  with  looks  of  mute 
inquiry  and  sympathy. 


Let  us  rest  here. 

\They  set  doim  the  bier. 

'T  was  underneath  this  tree 

She  stopped,  the  last  time  she  came  home.     'T  was  here 
The  master  waited  for  her.     Now  he  waits, 
Not  in  the  shadow  of  the  dancing  leaves, 
But  the  chill  shelter  of  the  silent  stone. 
There  will  she  join  him  next ! 

[Melas  sinks  down  on  his  knees  and  raises  his  hands  silently,  in 
the  attitude  of  prayer.  All  follow  his  example,  except  Her 
mann,  who  places  himself  under  the  great  tree,  and  stands, 
his  arms  folded  and  his  head  sunk. 

MILO,  rises  suddenly  from  his  knees. 

But  see  who  comes  I 
[DORCAS  enters;  att  rite. 


186  TRAGEDY  OF   SUCCESS. 

THERESA. 

Does  she  profane  this  moment  and  this  presence  ? 

DORCAS. 

Where  is  she  ?     Oh,  Alondra  !     Oh,  my  child  ! 

[Theresa  looks  round  ivildly,  then  turns  away. 

Oh,  look  at  me !     I  am  not  wholly  hateful. 
These  eyes  thou  shunn'st  have  beamed  down  love  on  thee. 
The  voice  thou  shrink'st  from  lulled  thee  softly  once. 
Thou  dost  not  know  me,  dear? 

THERESA. 

Take  hence  this  woman ! 
She  is  the  cause  of  all. 


My  grief,  not  I. 
Look  on  me ! 

[Sinking  down,  and  clasping  her  hands  in  supplication. 

Little  daughter  dear,  look  on  me ! 

[Theresa  covers  her  face  with  her  hands. 

Am  I  so  hideous  ?     Oh,  I  was  not  once ! 
Look  on  me  only,  and  I  am  Pamela! 
Look  on  me  only,  and  I  have  not  sinned ! 
If  I  am  lost,  it  is  through  loss  of  thee  ! 
Be  mine  again,  and  give  me  to  myself! 

HERMANN. 

Be  merciful,  Theresa ! 


RESCUE.  187 

THERESA. 

Let  her  be  so, 

And  cease  to  call  me  child.     Tell  her  who  lies 
Extended  there.     I  cannot  speak  to  her. 

DORCAS. 

They  have  no  need  to  tell  me. 

THERESA. 

If  her  eyes 

Meet  mine  but  once,  if  my  voice  answer  hers, 
I  am  undone ;  her  spell  has  fallen  on  me ; 
My  life  is  given  to  crime,  my  soul  to  hell ! 

DORCAS,  in  a  tone  of  despair. 

Accursed !  accursed ! 

[She  approaches  the  bier. 

O   victim  !   thou  hast  triumphed  ! 

[She  sinks  down  near  the  bier. 

[ALICE  enters  by  a  side-path  which  opens  into  the  avenue  near 
the  great  tree.  She  goes  to  Hermann  and  takes  his  hand  in 
silence.  At  this  moment,  a  movement  and  murmur  among  the 
crowd.  HERBERT  is  seen  approaching.  He  advances  with 
a  slow  and  uncertain  step,  looking  anxiously  about  him.  Seeing 
Hermann,  he  hastens  up  to  him. 


You  have  come  back ! 

HERMANN. 

I  have  come  back  alone. 


188  TRAGEDY  OF  SUCCESS. 

HERBERT,  hesitating  and  agitated. 

What  is  it  you  would  tell  me  ? 

[  With  vehemence,  pointing  to  the  bier. 

What  is  here  ? 

HERMANN. 

The  empty  casket  that  once  held  our  jewel. 

[Herbert  stands  motionless  for  a  few  moments,  then  goes  towards 
the  bier.    Alice  intercepts  him  and  draws  him  back  gently. 

HERBERT. 

Alice !     Oh,  sister,  speak  to  me  !    You  loved  her  I 
Oh,  tell  me  I  am  not  her  murderer! 

ALICE. 

Brother,  dear  brother,  in  her  name  I  speak : 
Forgive  yourself! 

HERBERT. 

Oh,  never,  never,  sister! 


Forgive  yourself!     A  Higher  Will  than  yours 
Ordained  her  fate.     A  Higher  Will  than  yours 
Composed  the  strife  between  your  love  and  pride. 
That  sentence  you  could  neither  shun  nor  bear, 
When  human  will  or  human  law  pronounced  it, 
Is  now  irrevocably  passed.     In  vain 
Your  tenderness  or  your  regrets  assail  it. 


RESCUE.  189 

Bow  to  it,  then.     You  have  not  strength  to  wrestle 
With  the  fierce  angel  of  remorse.     Submit. 
Receive  into  your  heart,  through  Heaven's  favor, 
The  peace  you  cannot  win  through  victory. 
God  requires  not  where  He  has  not  bestowed. 

HERBERT. 

Alice,  my  sister,  oh,  what  bitter  soothing ! 


Not  so,  my  brother.     In  this  solemn  presence 

I  cannot  meet  thee  with  consoling  words 

That  truth  disowns.     I  cannot  speak  thee  guiltless. 

Thy  own  heart  would  repel  the  false  remission. 

But  I  can  bring  to  thee  her  gentle  pardon, 

Can  tell  thee  there  is  care  for  thee  in  heaven, 

Can  pray  thee  to  accept  the  love  and  pity 

Her  pleading  spirit  bends  to  earth  to  offer. 

Forgive  thyself,  for  thou  hast  been  forgiven ! 

Was  my  word  harsh  ?     I  did  not  mean  it  so. 

Not  mine  her  unexhausted  tenderness. 

And,  brother,  oh,  this  grief  is  heavy  on  me 

As  on  thyself.     Nor  bear  I  this  alone. 

He  whom  I  loved,  not  with  an  earthly  love, 

But  with  the  silent  reverential  worship 

That  mortals  offer  to  translated  saints, 

He,  through  thy  weakness,  through  thy  fault,  has  met 

The  outlaw's  death,  —  he  fills  the  felon's  grave. 

My  brother,  —  yet  I  cannot  see  thee  suffer. 

Thou  wast  not  made  for  it.     Lay  down  thy  pride. 


Q^"  Any  Books  in  this  list  will  be  sent  free  of  postage,  on  receipt 
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BOSTON,  185  WASHINGTON  STREET, 
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by   TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  7 

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A  POET'S  JOURNAL.    In  Press. 


by   TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  9 

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[POETRY.] 

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cents. 
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50  cents. 
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cents. 
BARRY    CORNWALL'S    ENGLISH    SONGS    AND    OTHER 

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10       A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 


LOCKHART'S  (J.  G.)  SPANISH  BALLADS.    With  Portrait. 

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"  MINSTRELSY,  ANCIENT    AND   MODERN. 

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fax.")    1  vol.    75  crnts. 

OWEN  MEREDITH'S  POEMS.    1vol.    Blue  and  Gold.   75  cts. 
PARS'ONS'S  POEMS.    1  vol.    $1.00. 

"  DANTE'S  INFERNO.  Translated.  In  Press. 
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50  cents. 

"  "       LYTERIA  :  A  Dramatic  Poem.     50  cents. 

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tion.    2  vols.    $2.00. 
REJECTED  ADDRESSES.     By   Horace  and  James   Smith. 

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"  "  CITY  POEMS.     1  vol.     63  cents. 

"  "  EDWIN  OF   DEIRA.     With  Por 

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"  "        SONGS  OF  SUMMER.     1  vol.    75  cts. 

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[PROSE.] 

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ARNOLD'S  (DR.  THOMAS)  LIFE  AND  CORRESPONDENCE, 
Edited  by  A.  P.  Stanley.    2  vols.    12mo.     Cloth.    $2.00. 


by   TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  11 


ARNOLD'S  (W.  D.)  OAKFIELD.  A  Novel.  1  vol.  16mo. 
Cloth.  $1.00. 

ALMOST  A  HKROINE.  By  the  Author  of  "  Charles  Au- 
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ARABIAN  DAYS'  ENTERTAINMENT.  Translated  from  the 
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separate  volumes,  each  50  cents. 

BACON'S  (DKLIA)  THE  SHAKSPERIAN  PROBLEM  SOLVED. 
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12       A  USt  of  Books  Publiihed 


DUFFERIN'S   (LORD)   YACHT  VOYAGE.     1    vol.     16mo. 

Cloth.     $1.00. 

EL  FUREIDIS.  By  the  author  of  "  The  Lamplighter." 
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ERNEST  CARROLL  ;  OR,  ARTIST-LIFE  IN  ITALY.     1  vol. 

16mo.     Cloth.     88  cents. 

FREMONT'S  LIFE,  EXPLORATIONS,  AND  PUBLIC  SER 
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GASKELL'S  (MRS.)  RUTH.     A  Novel.    8vo.   Paper.   38  cts. 
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$1.50. 

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16mo.  Cloth,  $1.00;  cloth,  gilt  edge,  $1.50; 
morocco,  plain  gilt  edge,  $2.00;  morocco, 
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"  HISTORY  OF  THE  KING'S  CHAPEL,  BOS 

TON.    12mo.     Cloth.    50  cents. 
HODSON'S  SOLDIER'S  LIFE  IN  INDIA.    1  vol.  16mo.    Cloth. 

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HOWITT'S  (WILLIAM)  LAND,  LABOR,  AND  GOLD.     2  vols. 

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"  "  A  BOY'S  ADVENTURES  IN  AUSTRA 

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LAKE  HOUSE.  From  the  German  of  Fanny  Lewald. 
1  vol.  16mo.  Cloth.  75  cents. 


by   TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  13 


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"  OCCASIONAL  SERMONS. 

With    fine    Portrait.     1 

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14       A  List  of  Books  Publifhed 


PRESCOTT'S  HISTORY   OP   THE   ELECTRIC   TELEGRAPH. 

Illustrated.     1  vol.  12mo.     Cloth.    $1.75. 
POORE'S  (BEN  PEULEY)  Louis  PHILIPPE.     1  vol.  12mo. 

Cloth.     $1.00. 
PHILLIPS'S   ELEMENTARY   TREATISE   ox  MINERALOGY. 

With  numerous  additions  to  the  Introduction.     By  Francis  Al- 

ger.    With  numerous  Engravings.    1  vol.    New  edition  in  press. 
PRIOR'S  LIFE  OF  EDMUND  BURKE.     2  vols.   IGmo.    Cloth. 

$2.00. 

RAB  AND  HIS  FRIENDS.  By  John  Brown,  M.  D.  Illus 
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SALA'S  JOURNEY  DUE  NORTH.    1  vol.  ICmo.  Cloth.  Si. 00. 

SCOTT'S  (SiR  WALTER)  IVANHOE.  In  one  handsome  vol 
ume.  $1.75. 

SIDNEY'S  (SiR  PHILIP)  LIFE.  Bv  Mrs.  Davis.  1  vol. 
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SHELLEY  MEMORIALS.  Edited  by  the  Daughter-in-law 
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SWORD  AND  GOWN.  By  the  Author  of  "  Guy  Living 
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SHAKSPEAR'S  (CAPTAIN  H.)  WILD  SPORTS  OF  INDIA. 
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SEMI-DETACHED  HOUSE.  A  Novel.  1  vol.  IGmo.  Cloth. 
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SMITH'S  (WILLIAM)  THORNDALE  ;  OR,  THE  CONFLICT 
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SUMXER'S  (CHARLES)  ORATIONS  AND  SPEECHES.    2  vols. 

16mo.    Cloth.     $2.50. 

ST.  JOHN'S  (BAYLE)  VILLAGE  LIFE  IN  EGYPT.  2  vols.  IGmo. 

Cloth.     $1.25. 
TYNDALL'S  (PROFESSOR)  GLACIERS  OF  THE  ALPS.    With 

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TYLL  OWLGLASS'S  ADVENTURES.  With  Illustrations  by 
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THE  SAND-HILLS  OF  JUTLAND.  By  Hans  Christian  An 
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THE  SOLITARY  OF  JUAN  FERNANDEZ.  By  the  Author  of 
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TRUE  WOMANHOOD.     A  Novel.    By  John  Neal.     1  vol. 

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TUCKERMAN,'S  POEMS.     1  vol.     75  cents. 

TAYLOR'S  (HENRY)  NOTES  FROM   LIFE.     1  vol.    IGmo. 

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«  "        THE  PRESERVATION  OF  HEALTH. 

1  vol.     38  cents. 

WALLIS'S  (S.  T.)  SPAIN  AND  HER  INSTITUTIONS.     1  vol. 

16mo.    Cloth.    $1.00- 


by    TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  15 


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Tragedy  of 
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JAN  9.  n  1961 


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